Free Now You See Her by Joy Fielding

shabby-looking armoire and matching nightstand, an even shabbier-looking dresser that was missing the knobs on two of its three drawers, a high-backed chair upholstered in heavy purple brocade that was fraying along its seams, and a battered mahogany table beneath a window that looked through a slightly worn lace curtain directly into one of the upstairs windows of the B&B next door. The purple-flowered wallpaper was only slightly more muted than the wallpaper in the common areas and the carpet was a tired-looking mix of mauve and brown. No more tired-looking than I am, Marcy thought, plopping down on the bed’s too-soft mattress and staring at her reflection in the frameless rectangular mirror on the opposite wall.
    You’re beautiful
, she heard Vic whisper in her ear.
    “Yeah, right,” she scoffed, pushing at her hair.
    “Sorry, did you say something?” Colin asked.
    “What? No. Did I?” She hadn’t realized the boy was still there. Probably waiting for a tip, she realized, fishing in her purse for some change.
    “Is everything all right?” he asked nervously, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.
    “Yes. Everything’s just fine.”
    “Enjoy your stay,” he said, his shins knocking against her suitcase as he turned toward the door.
    “Oh, well. It’s not so bad,” Marcy exclaimed after he’d left the room, hoping to be reassured by the sound of her own voice. After all, she was used to convincing herself that things were other than the way they really were. So if she told herself enough times that the room was beautiful and that everything was fine, she would no doubt eventually come to believe it. “You pretend, therefore you are,” she whispered, walking over to the window and parting the dusty lace curtains, staring into the upstairs window of the B&B next door.
    It took her several seconds to realize that someone was staring back. A young woman, Marcy realized. A young woman about Devon’s height with the same long brown hair. “Devon?” Marcy whispered as the woman smiled and offered a self-conscious little wave. Suddenly a man appeared at her side, holding a squirming toddler. The toddler’s hands strained toward the woman, his fingers reaching for her neck as she welcomed him into her arms and smothered his face with kisses.
    Not Devon, Marcy knew instantly. Devon had never been particularly fond of children. “I’m with Judith on that one,” she’d said more than once.
    “You have to stop imagining every girl you see is Devon,” Marcy told herself, backing away from the window and retrieving her suitcase from the floor, then tossing it on the bed. Not every girl who was the same height as Devon—
A pretty girl with long dark hair and high cheekbones, who maybe walked the way Devon walked and held her cigarette the same way
, Peter had said—was her daughter. She had to stop thinking that way or she’d make herself crazy.
    Too late, she thought as she unpacked her suitcase, hanging as many clothes as she could on the four hangers she found inthe tiny armoire and stuffing the rest into the Salvation Army-style chest of drawers under the mirror. The bathroom was so small that when she opened the door, it hit the tub, and there was no medicine cabinet or counter for her toiletries, so she had to spread the various creams her sister had insisted she buy around the edge of the decidedly utilitarian white sink. Not that any of them did any good, she thought, unable to avoid the small mirror over the sink and staring at the fine lines that were gathering around her mouth and eyes like an unwelcome storm. “Who invited you to this party?” she wondered aloud, splashing some cold water on her face, then patting her face dry with the thin white towel hanging on a nearby hook.
    Time for a little lift
, she heard Judith say.
    “No, thank you.” Marcy backed away from the mirror, promptly hitting the bathroom door and feeling the doorknob jam into the small of her back like a