No Time To Blink Read online

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  ALSO BY DINA SILVER Kat Fight One Pink Line Finding Bliss The Unimaginable Whisper If You Need Me

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2018 by Dina Silver All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781503954120 ISBN-10: 1503954129 Cover design by David Drummond

  CONTENTS Chapter One ANN MARIE NEELAN Chapter Two CATHERINE CLARKE HADDAD Chapter Three CATHERINE Chapter Four ANN MARIE Chapter Five CATHERINE Chapter Six CATHERINE Chapter Seven ANN MARIE Chapter Eight CATHERINE Chapter Nine CATHERINE Chapter Ten ANN MARIE Chapter Eleven CATHERINE Chapter Twelve CATHERINE Chapter Thirteen ANN MARIE Chapter Fourteen CATHERINE Chapter Fifteen CATHERINE Chapter Sixteen ANN MARIE Chapter Seventeen CATHERINE Chapter Eighteen CATHERINE Chapter Nineteen CATHERINE Chapter Twenty ANN MARIE Chapter Twenty-One CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Two CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Three CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Four ANN MARIE Chapter Twenty-Five CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Six CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Seven ANN MARIE Chapter Twenty-Eight CATHERINE Chapter Twenty-Nine CATHERINE Chapter Thirty ANN MARIE Chapter Thirty-One CATHERINE Chapter Thirty-Two CATHERINE Chapter Thirty-Three ANN MARIE Chapter Thirty-Four ANN MARIE Chapter Thirty-Five CATHERINE Chapter Thirty-Six CATHERINE Chapt

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  Chapter One ANN MARIE NEELAN Chicago, 2008 As I reach the attorney’s office on the thirtieth floor, I’m disappointed by my reflection in the large glass panels that make up the entrance. My shoulders are slumped, and there are dark circles underneath my blue eyes. Nothing ages you like stress and sadness. I lift my chin and yank one of the door handles before seeing the word PUSH etched above it. A profound thud echoes through the corridor. Once inside, I can sense the receptionist’s disdain. I approach him with a rueful grin. “I’m Ann Marie Neelan. I’m here to see—” “Please have a seat,” he says. I settle in an old leather armchair near a window overlooking Chicago’s renowned Michigan Avenue and look down at my unsteady hands gripping the folders in my lap as if my life depends on them, which it does. Despite everything, my fingernails are perfectly manicured in pale pink to match my lips, and my long dark hair is pulled into a low, tidy ponytail at the nape of my neck, because I’m no

  Chapter Two CATHERINE CLARKE HADDAD Chicago, 1970 On top of the dining-room sideboard was a photograph from our honeymoon in Italy. We’d gone to Rome, Florence, and then Venice. Gabriel was pictured standing in Saint Mark’s Square—arms outstretched liked a human perch with a pile of birdseed in each hand and a mass of fluttering, ambitious pigeons on each arm. I couldn’t help but smile when I lifted it for a closer look. I placed the frame back down and finished dusting. Our first few months of marriage had been challenging. We’d eloped at city hall after dating only a couple of months, disappointing both our families and, worse, enraging my mother. Not long after, we left my childhood home in Greenwich, Connecticut, for Gabriel’s new job in Chicago. Mother begrudgingly drove us to the airport and would hug only me, not my husband, goodbye. He and I met in Greenwich during the summer of 1970, which I was quick to term “the summer of disappointment” when my parents didn’t show up for my

  Chapter Three CATHERINE Greenwich, 1970 A week later, Gabriel called to ask me out on a date, and as the evening approached, my anticipation grew. My sister Colleen lent me her bright yellow minidress, which had a belt that sat low on the hips. The color was a little much with my blonde hair, but I thought he’d get a kick out of me dressing like sunlight. At 7:00 p.m., I walked into my father’s office, gave him a kiss on the top of the head, and walked out. He was nose-deep in a vodka gimlet and the evening paper, and as far as he cared, any one of his five daughters could have breezed in and said goodbye. At 7:15 p.m., the doorbell rang, causing the dogs to bark and run through the foyer with boundless excitement and curiosity. When I opened the door, Gabriel was standing there with a bouquet of yellow tulips. “For you,” he said and allowed our beagle trio to perform due diligence with their noses. One they were satisfied, they all bolted outside onto the driveway. “These are my absol

  Chapter Four ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 As I come to life after a restless night’s sleep, my therapist’s voice rings in my head along with my son’s cries through the baby monitor. “Every morning, write down five things you’re grateful for,” she would say. Hurriedly, I sit on the edge of my bed and grab the pink spiral-bound notebook she forced on me a month ago. Unlike my mother, I loathe writing in journals or anything else for that matter. I open to yesterday’s page. 1) My health 2) My boys 3) Our home 4) My mom 5) That revenge is possible I grab a pen and try to write quickly before Luke wakes Jimmy and Ryan, and I have three cranky kids on my hands. 1) My health 2) My boys 3) Our home 4) My mom 5) That revenge is possible Luke gets quiet as soon as I enter his room. The lights are dim, and he’s standing clutching the bars of the crib, his hair a sweaty mop of sticky golden locks. The room smells of lavender and poop. “Hi, sweet boy,” I whisper, and lift him out, kissing his cheeks. “M

  Chapter Five CATHERINE Greenwich, 1970 After our first date, I saw Gabriel Haddad every single day. Sometimes just for a cup of coffee, sometimes for dinner, and sometimes for whatever we could accomplish in the front seat of a Corvette. If I’d ever been happier in my life, I had no recollection of it. I caught myself smiling and laughing when no one was around. Writing his name on pages in my journal and nothing else. Six weeks into our relationship, Gabriel led me through the doorway of a hotel room at the Stanton House Inn on Maple Avenue. I’d told our housekeeper, Jessie, I was sleeping at Laura’s that night—something I did at least twice a week—so there was no reason for her to question me. The room was quintessential Greenwich. Pink-and-green bedding matched a set of lime-colored throw rugs covering large square sections of the hardwood floors. There were rose-covered curtains, striped wallpaper, and a fireplace on the back wall. A combination of wicker and pine furniture was car

  Chapter Six CATHERINE Chicago, 1970 After I finished dusting the apartment, I sat by the window listening to the “L” train whiz by the corner of Armitage and Sheffield, watching pedestrians scurry about the street corner beneath me. Our two-bedroom apartment was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood, about a mile and a half west of Lake Michigan. There was parquet wood flooring throughout, with bright green and metallic geometric print wallpaper in the kitchen and bath. I’d purchased a matching emerald velvet couch for the main room and a bamboo dinette set when we’d first arrived. It was unseasonably mild for early December in the Windy City. My glass of iced tea was nearly empty, and I’d forgotten to get lemons at the market, which made me long for an iced tea from the Belle Haven Club. Strong, tart, and best of all, made for me and served to me along with a saucer of lemon wedges. Thanksgiving had come and gone and turned out to be a coloss

  Chapter Seven ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 “You’re scaring me,” I say to my mom. “I can’t reschedule my appointment with the attorney. I’ve waited too long as it is.” “I don’t mean to scare you.” “What’s going on? Does this have something to do with my father?” My parents had split up when I was very young, and I’d lived with my mother my whole life in Connecticut until I’d left home for college and never cam
e back. Mom has always been tight-lipped about the relationship, never wanting anyone in her family to discuss him with me, good or bad. Needless to say, he’s been a mystery. Every once in a while, I’d get a Christmas or birthday gift in the mail, but those stopped many years ago. I would cringe and stammer when kids at school would ask me about my dad. The majority of my childhood was spent pretending I never had a father and coping with that void. Especially with my mother and my four aunts being around me at all times. There was an overwhelming female contingent, and asking them abou

  Chapter Eight CATHERINE Chicago, 1970 I was still grinning like a fool and thinking about goddamned chicken potpie when he finished his sentence. “What?” I asked. “I’m being transferred back to Beirut. They have an immediate position for me and want me there before the holidays.” His tone was eager. “This is a dream come true for us.” I stared at him, stunned. “You’re not serious.” I shook my head. “We’ve only just gotten settled here. This is our new home.” Gabriel frowned. There was disappointment on both of our faces. I stood in the kitchen waiting for whatever he was going to tell me next, and at the same time not wanting to hear one more word about it. My head was still shaking when he pulled a chair out from the table and told me to sit. “I know it’s sooner than I ever thought it would happen . . .” “Years sooner!” I nearly laughed. He took a breath. “It’s going to be beautiful. You and me, back in my country, together. The two of us in the place that I love the most. You are goi

  Chapter Nine CATHERINE Beirut, Lebanon, 1970 As we flew in from above, the city’s buildings resembled a crowded cluster of white beehives nestled closely together on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. We landed two days before Christmas, and the air was a damp sixty degrees Fahrenheit. A driver named Walid greeted us in Arabic and then in English as we walked out of the airport before taking our bags. He was a small man and moved around as quick as a fox. His driving was erratic, yet on par with everyone else’s. I craned my neck to see if there were any dividing lines on the streets. “How do people know which lane to stay in?” I asked Gabriel. He smiled and held my hand. “They get used to it. It’s organized chaos.” Palm trees stood on the water’s edge, begging to be noticed against buildings and makeshift markets everywhere. Balconies were littered with people, some leaning way over to talk to neighbors below. I could hear their voices shouting as we passed. It was a beautiful, bustlin

  Chapter Ten ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 “If you can get a treadmill in here, I could kill two birds with one stone,” I say to Thomas, Stuart Fishman’s receptionist and my new best friend, then place a Grande, no-foam latte on his desk. He lifts the cup. “This better be nonfat.” “It’s free, drink it.” “I literally cannot even talk to you if you didn’t watch Lost last night.” “I had a dream that Sawyer saved me from a burning movie theater and had to use his shirt to put the flames out. Does that count?” Thomas rolls his eyes. “I watched it,” I say. “Can you believe Juliet outed Sun like that about the affair? I can’t stand her.” “She’s such a bitch. I hate her and Jack together,” he says while I take a seat in my favorite leather armchair. “When this divorce is over, I will own this chair, and I intend to leave here with it,” I say. “Have at it.” Thomas waves a hand in the air. About ten minutes later, I’m sitting in a conference room with Amanda and Noah. “Stewart is in court today,” she s

  Chapter Eleven CATHERINE Beirut, 1970 It was still dark when Gabriel’s alarm clock rang the next morning, and I vaguely remembered him saying goodbye to me before he left. I lay there for a while, staring at the white ceiling and thinking I should get up and unpack before showering. By the time the sun came up, I was dressed and ready to go to the market. Christmas was the next day, and Brigitte had invited us to have dinner with them and a couple of other families in the building. Gabriel had not hesitated to accept the invitation when Brigitte’s husband, Sammy, had come to our door the night before. I grabbed my wool coat and purse and skipped downstairs to find Walid waiting at the curb, leaning against a Volkswagen Beetle with a newspaper and cup of coffee in his hands. He quickly folded it up when he saw me. “Where to, Miss Catherine?” His toothless smile was quite charming. I stopped when I reached the end of the walk. “You didn’t have to come today,” I said. “Did Gabriel send yo

  Chapter Twelve CATHERINE Beirut, 1970 It was Christmas Day, and the overseas ringtones were long and drawn out. I sipped a bowl of chicken broth I’d made as a snack before dinner because my pregnancy came with hunger pains every ten minutes. My ears perked up when I heard my sister Margaret’s voice. “Hello?” “It’s me, it’s CC. Merry Christmas!” “Same to you! How are you? I’ve been hoping you’d call.” She muffled the receiver, and I heard her call out to my sister Colleen before returning to the phone. “What’s it like there?” “It’s nice. Our apartment is clean and a little dull—lots of white everywhere—but Gabriel has promised to let me change things around. First thing will be painting the kitchen a light green, I think. How about you guys?” “We’re all getting ready for brunch at the club. You just missed Mom. She dragged Mary Grace over to the neighbors to borrow a pair of tights. Dad’s had three Bloody Marys with Uncle David in the salon already, and Colleen and I are plotting our es

  Chapter Thirteen ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 The boys and I walk in the house after going to the grocery and immediately hear noises coming from upstairs. “Wait here,” I say to them and slam my keys on the counter. At any other juncture in my life, I would assume there’s a thief in the house, but not anymore. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Todd screams and startles me as I find him standing in our bedroom—my bedroom—unannounced and uninvited, with my black halter-style bikini in his hand. The master bedroom has white walls, white carpet, and white bedding with a pale gray stripe. The only real color in the room comes from the bright red sweatshirt Todd’s wearing. I glance at my open suitcase on the floor. “What are you doing?” My blood is boiling. “Answer my question,” he says. I snatch the bathing suit from his hand. “Get out of here!” I scream. “What’s the suitcase for?” “Get out.” My temples throb. I point to the hallway and move aside, but he doesn’t budge. “You know you c

  Chapter Fourteen CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 On a warm and sunny day in late March, there was a knock on my door. I braced myself with one hand on the table as I wobbled onto my feet, very pregnant by then. Little Miss Reema was standing barefoot with her purse in one hand and dragging her favorite penguin in the other. “Hi, sweetie. Am I late to get you this morning?” She nodded. “OK, well, come on in, then. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting.” I looked up to see the door to her apartment ajar, but Brigitte was not in eyeshot. “I’ll leave the door open in case your mom is looking for you.” For two months, I’d been watching Reema three mornings a week so Brigitte could work part-time for the local butcher, who lived in the building next door. I used to watch her from the balcony, trying to bribe Reema each morning to come to work with her, and Reema would plug her nose and scream because she couldn’t stand the smell of raw meat. “I’d be happy to watch her for you,” I’d offered one morning o

  Chapter Fifteen CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 “Push again!” the head nurse, Robin, bellowed. My hands were gripping the edges of a pillow placed atop my chest. “You’re doing great, Catherine,” she assured me through the moans and groans and wails that were flying out of my throat. My birthing team at the American University of Beirut Medical Center was all Americans. My mother had handpicked the doctor, and he had a staff of residents and medical students whom I will never forget as long as I live. I was alone and in labor for twelve hours before my daughter decided to grace us with her presence. One of the residents was by my side at all times, chatting with me and encouraging me and feeding me ice cubes. They even made certain my makeup bag was within reach. With their help, I gave birth that day, April 6, 1971, to a baby girl, ten days before she was due. She had dark hair like her father, but I instantly recognized my own face in hers. I was beaming with joy when Gabriel was
brought in fr

  Chapter Sixteen ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 “It’s a good day,” I say to my friend Jen on the phone. “No, it’s a great day.” The November air is crisp and cool, but the sun still shines brightly without an ugly winter fog to contend with. “I’m so happy for you. For us, really. But no one deserves a weekend away more than you do,” she says. Jen is one of those awesome women. When she isn’t working, she runs a neighborhood book club so her friends can drink wine and stick their husbands with the children for a few hours. She has five kids in the school district, so she has the scoop on every single person in the community. She yells and honks at other parents in the pickup line when they’re on their cell phones and not moving forward, and she volunteers at a local animal shelter and guilts everyone she knows into adopting a pet. Her youngest child is a close friend of Ryan’s, and she’s always offering to take him in when I need some extra help. “What day is your mom coming?” she asks me. “My

  Chapter Seventeen CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 The first time I caught Gabriel lying to me, he’d been away for a week on a business trip to Paris. When I tried to phone his hotel, they had no record of him ever staying there or booking a reservation. Upon his return, he claimed he’d given me the wrong name of the hotel. An innocent and believable mistake, but I knew he was lying. When I threatened to check with Walid to make sure he’d driven him to the airport, Gabriel disconnected our phone service for a week. I had to sneak over to Brigitte’s apartment just to place an order with the butcher. The second time was a month or so later. Gabriel had called at 5:00 p.m., saying he was at the office and would be home by 7:00 p.m. for dinner. At 10:00 p.m., he walked through the front door, claiming an impromptu dinner meeting, but my gut told me he was in Beit Chabab and couldn’t get back because of traffic. The next morning, I simply asked Walid how the drive to the mountains was, and he replied