No Returns Read Online Free Page A

“See?”
    It read:
    She walks in beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
    And all that’s best of dark and bright
    Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
    Thus mellowed to that tender light
    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
    One shade the more, one ray the less,
    Had half impaired the nameless grace
    Which waves in every raven tress,
    Or softly lightens o’er her face;
    Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
    And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
    The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
    But tell of days in goodness spent,
    A mind at peace with all below,
    A heart whose love is innocent!
    I placed my hand on my mother’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Sorry to tell you this mom, but that’s Lord Byron’s She Walks Alone . Deacon, er, borrowed it.”
    “He selected it,” she defended. “What man would go to all that trouble?”
    “Any guy who can Google?”
    “Is that the search thing I’m supposed to use when I want to find something on the computer?”
    “One of them. Here,” I dragged the laptop over. “Let me show you. Um, you’re having lunch with Muffy Tarleton tomorrow, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Then let’s see if Muffy has any skeletons in her closet.”
    “Is this legal?” my mother asked.
    “I’m not hacking, I’m asking. Completely legal. Here we go. Photos and everything,” I said with some pride because my skills bore fruit. Knowing Muffy was a stunning woman in her early fifties, I of course, wanted to know if she’d had any work done. “Here’s her maiden name too. Let’s review her time at Lexington Prep,” I read. “We can check out her high school years.”
    “Oh my God!” My mother and I said in unison. High school Muffy was a hot mess. Frizzy, dull, dishwasher brown hair. No cheekbones to speak of and then there was the glaring thing in the middle of her face. If I didn’t think it was anatomically incorrect, I’d have sworn she was growing another arm instead of one honking nose. And just for good measure, she had on orthodontic headgear.
    “She’s had more work than Liam’s car.”
    “Who else can we do?”
    I hadn’t seen my mother this happy since the sale on pearls at David Yurman.
    “Can I do myself?”
    “Sure. That’s called an ego Google. Go for it.” She hunted and pecked her way through her name and then waited the mille-second for the search to bear fruit. “The first entry is when I married Jonathan.” She sounded disappointed.
    “Probably because your name used to be Susan Presley before you had it changed to Cassidy. Check your birth name.”
    “Oh heavens,” she said softly. “Pictures from the Met. Reviews, including that terrible one from the Times . Wait! A birth announcement?”
    I crooked my head to alleviate the glare. “Miss Presley of the Metropolitan Opera gave birth yesterday to a five-pound, six-ounce little girl at Lenox Presbyterian hospital. Miss Presley has yet to disclose a name.” I sat upright. “So?”
    “The circumstances of your birth were not ideal.”
    “Sorry to have been an inconvenience.”
    “I was only nineteen at the time.”
    “A sexually active nineteen-year-old. Apparently that hasn’t changed.”
    “Finley, must you constantly say things to hurt me?”
    “Well, it all worked out in the end. You met Jonathan Tanner a year later.”
    “Now he was a good man,” she said with conviction. “And he loved you, Finley. Just as if you were his own.”
    “I know.”
    I was feeling a tad uncomfortable. Usually my mom and I have surface attention conversations. “I better get some sleep,” I said as I stood. “Night.”
    “Good night.”
    I went to my room and picked up the receiver on my bedside phone, I pressed buttons quickly.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s me,” I said.
    Liam chuckled softly. “I know; I have caller ID too.”
    “Right. Two weird things happened tonight.” I told him about the email