Rachelle's spirits couldn't be dampened, not even by the unexpected appearance of Taylor Moorehouse in the backyard. Why should she bother if he chatted up Celine? The day had been particularly delightful for her.
She had put together a sumptuous spaghetti bolognese for the night's meal, inspired by her mother's tried-and-true recipe—the luscious sauce simmered from scratch being a testament to her culinary passion.
"That aroma is heavenly, Rachelle," complimented Celine, gliding through the backdoor, fresh off a call—no doubt with Juliette.
Casually inquiring, "Was Taylor around earlier?" Rachelle couldn't keep the words from tumbling out—her curiosity besting her once more.
Celine shot her a knowing look and teased with a sly wink, "You saw him." Refusing to rise to Celine's baiting, Rachelle pressed, "What did he want?"
His house key, Ella chimed in from across the room—poor guy locked himself out again—and began setting plates on the table in preparation for their meal. Rachelle quipped about his brilliance—or lack thereof—with a soft chuckle and a flash of nostalgia, remembering their younger days. They'd walked back from Cameron High School once, Rachelle teasing him for locking his keys away while they awaited his mother's arrival on their porch—an awkward interlude filled with failed goldfish cracker catches and laughter.
A sad smile crept onto Rachelle's face as she stirred the Bolognese one last time before turning off the stove. "Celine, let Dad and Marissa know dinner's served."
As each family member drifted into the kitchen, Rachelle set about serving up heaps of pasta topped with her scrumptious sauce at the table's center—flanked by a crisp Caesar salad and crusty garlic bread. She nodded at Ella's placement settings, approvingly.
Marissa breezed in last, frantically grading essays up until dinner time—which clearly reflected in her hope that Rachelle's grades outshone those of her own students. With a slap of her notebook onto the counter and reaching for a wine glass, she asked Jerry if he'd like some white wine as well.
Once everyone was settled—with Kitty happily sipping from her cup and Jerry and Marissa enjoying their wine—Rachelle filled cups of water for everyone else before taking her own seat. Pride swelled within her as she gazed upon the meal—it was truly a masterpiece elle d'cuisine ready to be savored by all.
"Please, no rocks at the dinner table," Marissa admonished, as Michael cautiously positioned his latest geological treasure by his dinnerware. Chastened, Michael withdrew the stone to safety under the table.
As Marissa delivered Mr. Grier's beverage and settled beside Kitty, a shrill delight erupted from the highchair. "MICHAEL!" Kitty hollered, her tiny frame jittering with joy. "HI MICHAEL!" Unruffled, Michael edged his chair even further, having already entrenched himself at the farthest reaches from Kitty's infectious enthusiasm – an adorable yet taxing challenge for him. With a call for quiet from Marissa, Kitty's attention was soon captivated by twirls of spaghetti and crisp lettuce bites.
Mr. Grier, twirling spaghetti onto his dish before offering it to Rachelle on his right, struck up conversation. "How fares your scholarly endeavors, Celine?" he inquired.
Celine exhaled her frustrations like a storm cloud. "It's my bane," she declared dramatically. "The very nemesis of my existence, my total downfall."
Rachelle silently pondered that perhaps if Celine had diverted some of her literary musings into her math studies, academia might not seem so grimly insurmountable. However, rearranging Celine's priorities was a battle lost long ago; in the throes of Celine's vivid imagination, reality stood little chance – especially not the reality of pre-calculus, which Rachelle herself had endured with little affection. Though Juliette and Marissa thrived in numerical realms where Rachelle had gladly pursued a path less calculated.
Nevertheless, Rachelle bolstered Celine's spirits. "You'll sail through," she encouraged with quiet confidence.
Celine muttered a skeptical huff in response and attacked a piece of garlic bread with fervor.
Rachelle turned to broach Ella about her upcoming vocal contest – details of which were scarce – when the shrill tone of the telephone sliced through their domestic symphony. She rose and scrutinized the caller ID: Barbara Rosewood. It struck Rachelle as peculiar; Juliette had barely set foot in Rosedale for half a day – was it conceivable that she'd already provoked Mrs. Rosewood to dial their father? It seemed improbable but entirely within the realm of possibility given Juliette's knack for stirring waves. Dispatching her to reconvene with Hunter's mother could now appear as less than judicious foresight.
"It appears to be Mrs. Rosewood," Rachelle announced distantly, presenting the handset like an unwelcome dish offered around the table. "I'd rather abstain from this dialogue."
A chorus of 'Nose goes!' filled the air; Celine's voice cutting through first as fingers swiftly found noses around the table – Ella's dainty touch succeeded by Michael (though clearly absolved from this particular round) and even Mr. Grier momentarily deserting his utensils to join the childish ritual while nudging his spectacles back in place. By default, Marissa inherited the uncoveted role as ambassador to Mrs. Rosewood.
"Apologies," Rachelle declared, her voice dripping with insincerity. She reveled in the reprieve from answering as she offloaded the burden onto Marissa, a sacrifice deemed unavoidable in her eyes.
Marissa exhaled a sharp curse as she rose to grab the phone from Rachelle's hand, her other hand gripped a wine glass like a lifeline, anticipating she'd need its comforting sip.
"Mommy uttered a naughty word!" Little Michael was visibly upset. "You oughta say 'heck'," he whispered conspiratorially. "Instead of that other bad one."
With an indulgent smile at her younger sibling, Rachelle shushed him with a finger to her lips, signaling silence as Marissa took the call.
"Hello? … Yes, this is Marissa, …" Her voice shifted to an uneasy solemnity. "He's what? Is everything okay?"
What followed was a symphony of chaos: Marissa's scream piercing the air, stumbling backward against the counter; the wine glass tumbling from her grip, bursting upon impact and splashing crimson across white tiles.
Mr. Grier's voice sliced through the tension with an eerie calm that commanded immediate obedience. "Ella, take Michael and Kitty up to their rooms," he instructed.
"But—" A ghostly pale Ella started to object while Michael's tears began anew and Kitty seemingly unfazed stood silent.
"Now," he repeated with more force, brokering no argument.
Ella corralled her charges upstairs without another word. Rachelle caught sight of Marissa's complexion – ashen like Ella's and tinted with nausea – wondering what news could churn such dread within them both. She'd soon find out.
"We're on our way," Marissa uttered into the receiver, her features numb with shock. She disconnected the call and let the phone crash next to its battery companions amidst the pooling wine.
"What is it? What's happened?" Mr. Grier's voice cracked; his calm facade had crumbled after ushering away the children.
Marissa faced him, eyes swimming with unshed tears and unfocused with fear. "It's Juliette," she faltered. "Someone has... someone has taken them." The words were nearly impossible for her to say. "Juliette and Hunter… they're both gone."