Hidden Pictures (Jason Rekulak)

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FORJULIE
1
AfewyearsbackIwasrunningoutofmoneysoIvolunteeredforaresearchstudyattheUniversityofPennsylvania.ThedirectionsbroughtmetothecampusmedicalcenterinWestPhillyandalargeauditoriumfilledwithwomen,allbetweeneighteenandthirty-fiveyearsold.Thereweren’tenoughchairsandIwasamongthelasttoarrivesoIhadtositshiveringonthefloor.TheyhadfreecoffeeandchocolatedonutsandabigTVplayingThePriceIsRight,butmosteveryonewaslookingattheirphones.ThevibewasalotliketheDMVexceptwewereallgettingpaidbythehoursopeopleseemedhappytowaitallday.
Adoctorinawhitelabcoatgotupandintroducedherself.ShesaidhernamewasSusanorStaceyorSamanthaandshewasafellowintheClinicalResearchprogram.Shereadalltheusualdisclaimersandwarnings,andremindedusthatcompensationwouldbeissuedintheformofAmazongiftcards,notchecksorcash.Acouplepeoplegrumbled,butIdidn’tcare;Ihadaboyfriendwhoboughtgiftcardsoffmeforeightycentsonthedollar,soIwasallset.
Everyfewminutes,Susan(IthinkitwasSusan?)calledanamefromherclipboardandoneofuswouldleavetheroom.Nooneevercameback.Prettysoontherewereplentyofopenseats,butIstayedonthefloorbecauseIdidn’tthinkIcouldmovewithoutthrowingup.MybodyachedandIhadthechills.Buteventuallywordgotaroundthattheyweren’tprescreeningpeople—whichistosay,noonewasgoingtotestmyurineortakemypulseordoanythingthatmightdisqualifyme—soIpoppeda40inmymouthandsuckeduntilthewaxyyellowcoatingcameoff.ThenIspatitbackinmypalm,crusheditbetweenmythumbs,andsnuffedlikemaybeathirdofit.Justenoughtogetmebackon.Therestwentintoatinypieceoffoilforlater.AndafterthatIstoppedshaking,andwaitingonthefloorwasn’tsobad.
Sometwohourslaterthedoctorfinallycalled“Quinn?MalloryQuinn?”andIwalkeddowntheaisletomeether,draggingmyheavywinterparkaonthefloorbehindme.IfshenoticedIwashigh,shedidn’tsayanything.Shejustaskedformyage(nineteen)andmydateofbirth(March3),andthenshecomparedmyanswerstotheinformationonherclipboard.AndIguessshedecidedIwassoberenough,becausesheledmethroughamazeofhallwaysuntilwearrivedatasmallwindowlessroom.
Therewerefiveyoungmenseatedinarowoffoldingchairs;theywereallstaringatthefloor,soIcouldn’tseetheirfaces.ButIdecidedtheyweremedstudentsorresidents—theyallworehospitalscrubs,stillcreasedandbrightnavyblue,liketheywerefreshofftherack.
“Allright,Mallory,we’dlikeyoutostandatthefrontoftheroom,facingtheguys.RighthereontheX,that’sperfect.Nowletmetellyouwhat’sgoingtohappen,beforeweputonyourblindfold.”AndIrealizedshewasholdingablackeyemask—thesortofsoftcottonvisorthatmymotherusedtowearatbedtime.
Sheexplainedthatallthemenwerecurrentlylookingatthefloor—butsometimeinthenextfewminutes,theyweregoingtolookatmybody.MyjobwastoraisemyhandifIfelt“themalegaze”onmyperson.Shetoldmetokeepmyhandsuspendedforaslongasthefeelinglasted,andloweritwheneverthefeelingwentaway.
“We’lldoitforfiveminutes,butafterwefinishwemightwantyoutorepeattheexperiment.Doyouhaveanyquestionsbeforewestart?”
Istartedlaughing.“Yeah,haveyouguysreadFiftyShadesofGrey?BecauseI’mprettysurethisischaptertwelve.”
Thiswasmyattemptatalittlelighthumor,andSusansmiledtobepolitebutnoneoftheguyswerepayingattention.Theywerefutzingwiththeirclipboardsandsynchronizingtheirstopwatches.Themoodintheclassroomwasallbusiness.Susanfittedthemaskovermyeyes,thenadjustedthestrapsoitwasn’ttootight.“Allright,Mallory,does
“Sure.”
“Andyou’rereadytobegin?”
“Yes.”
“Thenwe’llstartonmycountofthree.Gentlemen,getyourwatchesready.That’sone,two,three.”
It’sveryweird,standingstillforfiveminutes,blindfolded,inaperfectlysilentroom,knowingthatguysmightbelookingatyourboobsoryourbuttorwhatever.Therewerenosoundsorcluestohelpmeguesswhatwashappening.ButIdefinitelyfeltthemwatching.Iraisedandloweredmyhandseveraltimes,andthefiveminutesseemedtolastanhour.Afterwefinished,Susanaskedmetorepeattheexperiment,andwediditalloveragain.Thensheaskedmetorepeattheexperimentathirdtime!Andwhenshefinallypulledofftheblindfold,alltheguysstoodupandstartedclapping,likeI’djustwonanAcademyAward.
Susanexplainedthatthey’dbeenperformingtheexperimentallweekonhundredsofwomen—butIwasthefirstpersontodeliveranear-perfectscore,toreportthegazethreetimeswith97percentaccuracy.
Shetoldtheguystotakeabreakandthenusheredmeintoherofficeandstartedaskingquestions.Namely,howdidIknowthemenwerestaringatme?AndIdidn’thavethewordstoexplain—Ijustknew.Itwaslikeaflutteryfeelingontheperipheryofmyattention—akindofspideysense.Ibetthere’sagoodchanceyou’vefeltityourself,thatyouknowexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout
“Plus,there’sakindofsound.”
Hereyeswentwide.“Really?Youhearsomething?”
“Sometimes.It’sveryhigh-pitched.Likewhenamosquitobuzzestooclosetoyourear.”
Shereachedforherlaptopsofastshenearlydroppedit.Shetypedabunchofnotes,thenaskedifI’dbewillingtocomebackinaweekformoretests.Isaidfortwentybucksanhour,Iwouldcomebackasmuchasshewanted.Igavehermycellphonenumberandshepromisedtocallmetosetupanappointment—butthatverynight,ItradedmyiPhoneforfiveOxy-80s,soshehadnowayoftrackingmedown,andIneverheardfromheragain.
NowthatI’mclean,Ihaveamillionregrets—andtradingawaymyiPhoneistheleastofthem.ButsometimesI’llremembertheexperimentandI’llstarttowonder.I’vetriedtofindthedoctoronlinebutobviouslyIdon’tevenrememberhername.OnemorningItookthebustotheuniversitymedicalcenterandtriedtofindtheauditorium,butthecampusisalldifferentnow;thereareabunchofnewbuildingsandeverything’sscrambled.I’vetriedgooglingphraseslike“gazedetection”and“gazeperception”buteveryresultsaysthesearen’trealphenomena—there’snoevidencethatanyonehas“eyesinthebackoftheirhead.”
AndIguessI’veresignedmyselftothefactthattheexperimentdidn’tactuallyhappen,thatit’soneofthemanyfalsememoriesIacquiredwhileabusingoxycodone,heroin,andotherdrugs.Mysponsor,Russell,saysfalsememoriesarecommonamongaddicts.Hesaysanaddict’sbrainwill“remember”happyfantasiessowecanavoiddwellingonrealmemories—alltheshamefulthingswedidtogethigh,alltheshittywayswehurtgoodpeoplewholovedus.
“Justlistentothedetailsofyourstory,”Russellpointsout.“YouarriveonthecampusofaprestigiousIvyLeagueuniversity.You’restrungoutonkickersandnoonecares.Youenteraroomfullofhandsomeyoungdoctors.Thentheystareatyourbodyforfifteenminutesanderuptinastandingovation!Imean,comeon,Quinn!Youdon’thavetobeSigmundFreudtofigurethisout!”
Andhe’sright,obviously.Oneofthehardestthingsaboutrecoveryiscomingtotermswiththefactthatyoucan’ttrustyourbrainanymore.Infact,youneedtounderstandthatyourbrainhasbecomeyourownworstenemy.Itwillsteeryoutowardbadchoices,overridelogicandcommonsense,andwarpyourmostcherishedmemoriesintoimpossiblefantasies.
Butherearesomeabsolutetruths:
MynameisMalloryQuinnandIamtwenty-oneyearsold.
I’vebeeninrecoveryforeighteenmonths,andIcanhonestlysayIhavenodesiretousealcoholordrugs.
IhaveworkedtheTwelveStepsandIhavesurrenderedmylifetomylordandsaviorJesusChrist.Youwon’tseemeonstreetcornershandingoutBibles,butIdoprayeverydaythatHewillhelpmestaysober,andsofarit’sworking.
IliveinnortheastPhiladelphiaatSafeHarbor,acity-sponsoredhomeforwomeninadvancedstagesofrecovery.Wecallita“three-quartershouse”insteadofahalfwayhousebecausewe’veallprovenoursobrietyandearnedalotofpersonalfreedoms.Webuyourowngroceries,cookourownmeals,anddon’thavealotofannoyingrules.
MondaysthroughFridays,I’mateacher’saideatAuntBecky’sChildcareAcademy,amouse-infestedrowhomewithsixtyyoungscholarsagestwotofive.Ispendagoodpartofmylifechangingdiapers,dishingoutGoldfishcrackers,andplayingSesameStreetDVDs.AfterworkI’llgoforarunandthenattendameeting,orI’lljuststayinSafeHarborwithmyhousematesandwe’llallwatchHallmarkChannelmovieslikeSailingintoLoveorForeverinMyHeart.Laughifyouwant,butIguaranteeyouwillneverturnonaHallmarkChannelmovieandseeaprostitutesnortinglinesofwhitepowder.BecauseIdon’tneedthoseimagestakingupspaceinmybrain.
RussellagreedtosponsormebecauseIusedtobeadistancerunnerandhehasalonghistoryoftrainingsprinters.RussellwasanassistantcoachonTeamUSAatthe1988SummerOlympics.LaterheledteamsatArkansasandStanfordtoNCAAtrackandfieldchampionships.Andlaterstillhedroveoverhisnext-doorneighborwhileblitzedonmethamphetamine.Russellservedfiveyearsforinvoluntarymanslaughterandlaterbecameanordainedminister.Nowhesponsorsfiveorsixaddictsatatime,mostofthemwashed-upathleteslikemyself.
Russellinspiredmetostarttrainingagain(hecallsit“runningtorecovery”)andeveryweekhedraftscustomizedworkoutsforme,alternatinglongrunsandwindsprintsalongtheSchuylkillRiverwithweightsandconditioningattheYMCA.Russellissixty-eightyearsoldwithanartificialhipbuthestillbenchestwohundredpoundsandonweekendshe’llshowuptotrainalongsideme,offeringpointersandcheeringmeon.He’sforeverremindingmethatwomenrunnersdon’tpeakuntilagethirty-five,thatmybestyearsarewayaheadofme.
Healsoencouragesmetoplanformyfuture—tomakeafreshstartinanewenvironment,farawayfromoldfriendsandoldhabits.Whichiswhyhe’sarrangedajobinterviewformewithTedandCarolineMaxwell—friendsofhissisterwhohaverecentlymovedtoSpringBrook,NewJersey.They’relookingforanannytowatchtheirfive-year-oldson,Teddy.
“TheyjustmovedbackfromBarcelona.Thedadworksincomputers.Orbusiness?Somethingthatpaysgood,Iforgetthedetails.Anyhow,theymovedheresoTeddy—thekid,notthedad—canstartschoolinthefall.Kindergarten.SotheywantyoutostaythroughSeptember.Butifthingsworkout?Whoknows?Maybetheykeepyouaround.”
Russellinsistsondrivingmetotheinterview.He’soneoftheseguyswho’salwaysdressedforthegym,evenwhenhe’snotworkingout.Todayhe’swearingablackAdidastracksuitwithwhiteracingstripes.We’reinhisSUV,drivingovertheBenFranklinBridgeintheleftlane,passingtraffic,andI’mclutchingtheoh-shithandleandstaringatmylap,tryingnottofreakout.I’mnotverygoodincars.Itraveleverywherebybusandsubway,andthisismyfirsttimeleavingPhiladelphiainnearlyayear.We’retravelingonlytenmilesintothesuburbsbutitfeelslikeI’mblastingofftoMars.
“What’swrong?”Russellasks.
“Nothing.”
“You’retense,Quinn.Relax.”
ButhowcanIrelaxwhenthere’sthisenormousBoltBuspassingusontheright?It’sliketheTitaniconwheels,socloseIcouldreachoutmywindowandtouchit.IwaituntilthebuspassesandIcantalkwithoutshouting.
“Whataboutthemom?”
“CarolineMaxwell.She’sadoctorattheVAhospital.WheremysisterJeannieworks.That’showIgothername.”
“Howmuchdoessheknowaboutme?”
Heshrugs.“Sheknowsyou’vebeencleanforeighteenmonths.Sheknowsyouhavemyhighestprofessionalrecommendation.”
“That’snotwhatImean.”
“Don’tworry.Itoldheryourwholestoryandshe’sexcitedtomeetyou.”ImustlookskepticalbecauseRussellkeepspushing:“Thiswomanworkswithaddictsforaliving.Andherpatientsaremilitaryveterans,I’mtalkingNavySEALs,realf’d-upAfghanwartrauma.Don’ttakethisthewrongway,Quinn,butcomparedtothemyourhistoryain’tthatscary.”
SomeassholeinaJeepthrowsaplasticbagouthiswindowandthere’snoroomtoswervesowehitthebagatsixtymilesanhourandthere’saloudPOP!ofbreakingglass.Itsoundslikeabombexploding.RusselljustreachesfortheACandpushesittwoclickscooler.IstaredownatmylapuntilIheartheengineslowingdown,untilIfeelthegentlecurveoftheexitramp.
SpringBrookisoneofthesesmallSouthJerseyhamletsthathavebeenaroundsincetheAmericanRevolution.It’sfullofoldColonial-andVictorian-stylehouseswithU.S.flagshangingfromthefrontporches.Thestreetsarepavedsmoothandthesidewalksareimmaculate.There’snotaspeckoftrashanywhere.
WestopatatrafficlightandRusselllowersourwindows.
“Youhearthat?”heasks.
“Idon’thearanything.”
“Exactly.It’speaceful.Thisisperfectforyou.”
Thelightturnsgreenandweenterathree-blockstretchofshopsandrestaurants—aThaiplace,asmoothieshop,aveganbakery,adoggiedaycare,andayogastudio.There’sanafter-school“MathGymnasium”andasmallbookstore/café.Andofcoursethere’saStarbuckswithahundredteensandtweensoutfront,allofthempeckingattheiriPhones.TheylooklikethekidsinaTargetcommercial;theirclothesarecolorfulandtheirfootwearisbrand-new.
ThenRussellturnsontoasidestreetandwepassoneperfectsuburbanhouseafteranother.Therearetall,statelytreesthatshadethesidewalksandfilltheblockwithcolor.TherearesignswithbigletterssayingCHILDRENLIVEHERE—SLOWDOWN!andwhenwearriveatafour-wayintersection,there’sasmilingcrossingguardinaneonsafetyvest,wavingusthrough.Everythingissoperfectlydetailed,itfeelslikewe’redrivingthroughamovieset.
AtlastRussellpullsovertothesideoftheroad,stoppingintheshadeofaweepingwillow.“Allright,Quinn,areyouready?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Ipulldownthevisorandcheckmyreflection.AtRussell’ssuggestion,I’vedressedlikeasummercampcounselor,withagreencrewneck,khakishorts,andimmaculatewhiteKeds.IusedtohavelonghairthatfelltomywaistbutyesterdayIloppedoffmyponytailanddonatedittoacancercharity.Allthat’sleftisasportyblackbob,andIdon’trecognizemyselfanymore.
“Here’stwopiecesoffreeadvice,”Russellsays.“First,makesureyousaythekidisgifted.”
“HowcanItell?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.Inthistown,allthekidsaregifted.Justfindsomewaytoworkitintotheconversation.”
“Allright.What’stheotheradvice?”
“Well,iftheinterview’sgoingbadly?Orifyouthinkthey’reonthefence?Youcanalwaysofferthis.”
HeopenshisgloveboxandshowsmesomethingthatIreallydon’twanttocarryinsidetheirhouse.
“Oh,Russell,Idon’tknow.”
“Takeit,Quinn.Thinkofitlikeatrumpcard.Youdon’thavetoplayit,butyoumightneedto.”
AndI’veheardenoughhorrorstoriesinrehabtoknowhe’sprobablyright.Itakethestupidthingandshoveitdeepdownintomybag.
“Fine,”Itellhim.“Thanksfordrivingmeover.”
“Listen,I’llgowaitattheStarbucks.Givemeacallwhenyou’redone,andI’lldriveyouback.”
IinsistthatI’mfine,ItellhimIcantakethetrainbacktoPhilly,andIurgeRusselltodrivehomenowbeforethetrafficgetsanyworse.
“Allright,butcallmewhenyou’refinished,”hesays.“Iwanttohearallthedetails,okay?”
2
Outsidethecar,it’sahotmuggyJuneafternoon.RusselltootsthehornashedrivesawayandIguessthere’snoturningbacknow.TheMaxwellhouseisabigclassicVictorian,threestorieshigh,withyellowwoodsidingandwhitegingerbreadtrim.There’sabigwraparoundporchwithwickerfurnitureandplantersfullofyellowflowers—daisiesandbegonias.Thepropertybacksuptoalargeforest—ormaybesomekindofpark?—sothestreetisfullofbirdsongs,andIcanheartheinsectsbuzzingandchirpingandtrilling.
Iwalkuptheflagstonepathandclimbthestepstothefrontporch.Iringthedoorbell,andalittleboyanswers.Hehasorange-reddishhairthat’sstickingstraightup.HeremindsmeofaTrolldoll.
Isquatdownsowe’reseeingeyetoeye.
“IbetyournameisTeddy.”
Theboygivesmeashysmile.
“I’mMalloryQuinn.Isyour—”
Heturnsandsprintsupthestairstothesecondfloor,vanishingfromsight.
“Teddy?”
I’mnotsurewhattodo.Aheadofmeisasmallfoyerandapassageleadingbacktoakitchen.Iseeadiningroom(totheleft)andalivingroom(totheright)andgorgeoushardpinefloors(everywhere).I’mstruckbythefreshcleanscentofcentralair-conditioning—mixedwithahintofMurphyOil,asifsomeonehasjustgiventhefloorsagoodscrubbing.Allthefurniturelooksmodernandbrand-new,likeit’sjustarrivedfromtheCrateandBarrelshowroom.
Ipressthedoorbellbutitdoesn’tmakeasound.Ipressitthreemoretimes—nothing.
“Hello?”
Atthefarendofthehouse,inthekitchen,Iseethesilhouetteofawomanturningtonoticeme.
“Mallory?Isthatyou?”
“Yes!Hi!Itriedyourdoorbellbut—”
“Iknow,sorry.We’regettingitfixed.”
BeforeIcanevenwonderhowTeddyknewI’darrived,she’ssteppingforwardtowelcomeme.ShehasthemostgracefulwalkI’veeverseen—shemovessoundlessly,likeherfeetarebarelytouchingthefloor.She’stall,thin,andblond,withfairskinandsoftfeaturesthatseemtoodelicateforthisworld.
“I’mCaroline.”
Iputoutmyhandbutshegreetsmewithahug.She’soneofthosepeoplewhoradiatewarmthandcompassion,andsheholdsmeanextramomentlongerthannecessary.
“I’msogladyou’rehere.Russell’stoldussomanywonderfulthings.Areyoureallyeighteenmonthsclean?”
“Eighteenandahalf.”
“Incredible.Aftereverythingyou’vebeenthrough?Thatisjustextraordinary.Youshouldbereallyproudofyourself.”
AndIworryImightstarttocrybecauseIwasn’texpectinghertoaskaboutrecoveryrightaway,firstthing,beforeI’veevensteppedinsideherhouse.Butit’sarelieftogetitoverwith,tojustputallmyworstcardsonthetable.
“Itwasn’teasy,butit’seasiereveryday.”
“That’sexactlywhatItellmypatients.”Shestepsback,reviewsmefromheadtotoe,andsmiles.“Andlookatyounow!You’resohealthy,you’reglowing!”
Insidethehouse,it’sacrisppleasantsixty-eightdegrees—awelcomeretreatfromthemuggyweather.IfollowCarolinepastthestaircaseandunderneaththesecond-floorlanding.HerkitchenisfullofnaturallightandlookslikeacookingshowsetontheFoodNetwork.There’salargerefrigeratorandasmallrefrigeratorandthegasrangehaseightburners.Thesinkisakindoftrough,wideenoughtorequiretwoseparatefaucets.Andtherearedozensofdrawersandcabinets,alldifferentshapesandsizes.
CarolineopensatinydoorandIrealizethisisathirdrefrigerator,aminiatureone,stockedwithcolddrinks.“Let’ssee,we’vegotseltzer,coconutwater,icedtea…”
“I’dloveaseltzer.”Iturntomarvelatthewallofwindowsfacingthebackyard.“Thisisabeautifulkitchen.”
“It’shuge,isn’tit?Waytoobigforthreepeople.Butwefellinlovewiththerestofthehouse,sowewentforit.There’saparkrightbehindus,didyounotice?Teddylovestogostompingthroughthewoods.”
“Thatsoundslikefun.”
“Butwe’reconstantlycheckinghimforticks.I’mthinkingofbuyinghimafleacollar.”
Sheholdsaglasstotheicedispenseranditmakesagentletinklingsound—likethewindchimesonherfrontporch—andoutfalldozensoftinycrystallineicepearls.IfeellikeI’vejustwitnessedamagictrick.Shefillstheglasswithfizzyseltzerwaterandhandsittome.“Howaboutasandwich?CanImakeyousomething?”
IshakemyheadnobutCarolineopensthebigrefrigeratoranyway,revealingasmorgasbordofgroceries.Therearejugsofwholemilkandsoymilk,cartonsofbrowneggsfromcage-freehens,one-pinttubsofpestoandhummusandpicodegallo.Therearewedgesofcheeseandbottlesofkefirandwhitemeshbagsexplodingwithleafygreenvegetables.Andthefruit!Giantclamshellsofstrawberriesandblueberries,raspberriesandblackberries,cantaloupeandhoneydew.Carolinereachesforabagofbabycarrotsandapintofhummusandthenusesherelbowtoclosethefridge.Inoticethere’sachild’sdrawingonthedoor,acrudeandunskilledportraitofabunnyrabbit.IaskifTeddyisresponsible,andCarolinenods.“Sixweeksinthishouseandalreadyhe’shintingforpets.Itoldhimwehavetofinishunpacking.”
“Heseemsgifted,”Itellher,andIworrythewordssoundforced,thatI’vegonetoofartoosoon.
ButCarolineagreeswithme!
“Oh,definitely.He’sreallyadvancedforhispeergroup.Everyonesaysso.”
Wesettleatasmalldiningtableinthebreakfastnookandshehandsmeasheetofpaper.“Myhusbandtypedupsomeguidelines.Nothingtoocrazybutwemightaswellgetthemoutoftheway.”
HOUSERULES??1.??Nodrugs??2.??Nodrinking??3.??Nosmoking??4.??Noprofanity??5.??Noscreens??6.??Noredmeat??7.??Nojunkfood??8.??Novisitorswithoutpermission.??9.??NophotosofTeddyonsocialmedia.10.??Noreligionorsuperstition.Teachscience.
Underneaththetypedlist,there’saneleventhrule,handwrittenindelicatefemininescript:
Havefun!
CarolinestartsapologizingfortherulesbeforeI’veevenfinishedreadingthem.“Wedon’treallyenforcenumberseven.Ifyouwanttomakecupcakes,orbuyTeddyanicecream,that’sfine.Justnosoda.Andmyhusbandinsistedonnumberten.He’sanengineer.Heworksintechnology.Soscienceisveryimportanttoourfamily.Wedon’tsayprayersandwedon’tcelebrateChristmas.Ifapersonsneezes,wewon’tevensayGodBlessYou.”
“Whatdoyousay?”
“Gesundheit.Or‘toyourhealth.’Itmeansthesamething.”
There’sanapologetictoneinhervoiceandIseeherglanceatthetinygoldcrossthathangsfrommyneck—agiftfrommymotheronmyfirstHolyCommunion.IassureCarolinethatherHouseRuleswon’tbeaproblem.“Teddy’sreligionisyourbusiness,notmine.I’mjustheretoprovideasafe,caring,andnurturingenvironment.”
Sheseemsrelieved.“Andhavefun,right?That’sruleeleven.Soifyoueverwanttoplanaspecialtrip?Toamuseumorazoo?I’mhappytopayforeverything.”
Wetalkforawhileaboutthejobanditsresponsibilities,butCarolinedoesn’taskalotofpersonalquestions.ItellherthatIgrewupinSouthPhilly,onShunkStreet,justnorthofthestadiums.Ilivedwithmymotherandyoungersister,andIusedtobabysitforallthefamiliesonmyblock.IattendedCentralHighSchoolandIhadjustreceivedafullathleticscholarshiptoPennStatewhenmyliferanofftherails.AndRussellmusthavetoldCarolinetherest,becauseshedoesn’tmakemerehashtheuglystuff.
Insteadshejustsays,“ShouldwegofindTeddy?Seehowyoutwogetalong?”
Thedenisjustoffthekitchen—acozy,informalfamilyroomwithasectionalsofa,achestfulloftoys,andafluffyshagrug.ThewallsarelinedwithbookshelvesandframedpostersoftheNewYorkMetropolitanOpera—Rigoletto,Pagliacci,andLaTraviata.Carolineexplainsthattheseareherhusband’sthreefavoriteproductions,thattheyusedtovisitLincolnCenterallthetimebeforeTeddycamealong.
Thechildhimselfissprawledontherugwithaspiral-boundpadandsomeyellownumbertwopencils.Atmyarrival,helooksupandflashesamischievoussmile—thenimmediatelyreturnstohisartwork.
“Well,helloagain.Areyoudrawingapicture?”
Hegiveshisshouldersabig,exaggeratedshrug.Stilltooshytoanswerme.
“Honey,sweetheart,”Carolineinterjects.“Malloryjustaskedyouaquestion.”
Heshrugsagain,thenmoveshisfaceclosertothepaperuntilhisnoseispracticallytouchingthedrawing,likehe’stryingtodisappearinsideit.Thenhereachesforapencilwithhislefthand.
“Oh,Iseeyou’realeftie!”Itellhim.“Me,too!”
“It’sacommontraitinworldleaders,”Carolinesays.“BarackObama,BillClinton,RonaldReagan—they’realllefties.”
TeddymaneuvershisbodysoIcan’tseeoverhisshoulders,Ican’tseewhathe’sworkingon.
“Youremindmeofmylittlesister,”Itellhim.“Whenshewasyourage,shelovedtodraw.ShehadagiantTupperwarebinfullofcrayons.”
CarolinereachesunderthesofaandpullsoutagiantTupperwarebinfullofcrayons.“Likethis?”
“Exactly!”
Shehasalight,pleasantlaugh.“I’lltellyouafunnystory:ThewholetimewelivedinBarcelona,wecouldn’tgetTeddytopickupapencil.Weboughthimmarkers,fingerpaints,watercolors—heshowednointerestinart.ButthemomentwemovebacktotheStates?Andmoveintothishouse?Suddenly,he’sPabloPicasso.Now,hedrawslikecrazy.”
CarolineliftsthetopofthecoffeetableandIseeitdoublesassomekindofstoragechest.Sheremovesasheafofpaperthat’saninchthick.“Myhusbandteasesmeforsavingeverything,butIcan’thelpmyself.Wouldyouliketosee?”
“Definitely.”
Downonthefloor,Teddy’spencilhasstoppedmoving.Hisentirebodyhastensedup.Icantellthathe’slisteningcarefully,thathe’sfocusingallhisattentiononmyreaction.
“Oooh,thisfirstoneisreallynice,”ItellCaroline.“Isthisahorse?”
“Yes,Ithinkso.”
“No,no,no,”Teddysays,springingoffthefloorandmovingtomyside.“That’sagoat,becausehehashornsonhishead,see?Andabeard.Horsesdon’thavebeards.”Thenheleansintomylapandturnsthepage,directingmyattentiontothenextdrawing.
“Isthattheweepingwillowoutfront?”
“Yes,exactly.Ifyouclimbit,youcanseeabird’snest.”
Ikeepturningpagesanditisn’tlongbeforeTeddyrelaxesinmyarms,restinghisheadagainstmychest.IfeellikeI’mcradlingalargepuppy.Hisbodyiswarmandhesmellslikelaundrythat’sfreshoutofthedryer.Carolinesitsofftotheside,watchingourinteraction,andsheseemspleased.
Thedrawingsareallprettystandardkidstuff—lotsofanimals,lotsofsmiley-facedpeopleonsunnydays.Teddystudiesmyreactiontoeverydrawingandhesoaksupmypraiselikeasponge.
Carolineseemssurprisedtofindthislastpictureinthestack.“Imeanttosetthisoneaside,”shesays,butnowshehasnochoicebuttoexplainit.“ThisisTeddyandhis,um,specialfriend.”
“Anya,”Teddysays.“HernameisAnya.”
“Right,Anya,”Carolinesays,winkingatme,encouragingmetoplayalong.“WeallloveAnyabecausesheplayswithTeddywhileMommyandDaddyareworking.”
IrealizeAnyamustbesomekindofweirdimaginaryplaymatesoItrytosaysomethingnice.“Ibetit’sgreathavingAnyaaround.Especiallyifyou’realittleboyinanewtown,andyouhaven’tmettheotherchildrenyet.”
“Exactly!”CarolineisrelievedthatI’vegraspedthesituationsoquickly.“That’sexactlyright.”
“IsAnyaherenow?Issheintheroomwithus?”
Teddyglancesaroundtheden.“No.”
“Whereisshe?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Willyouseeherlatertonight?”
“Iseehereverynight,”Teddysays.“ShesleepsundermybedsoIcanhearhersinging.”
Thenthere’sachimeinthefoyerandIhearthefrontdooropenandclose.Aman’svoicecallsout,“Hello?”
“Intheden!”Carolinecallsback,andshelookstoTeddy.“Daddy’shome!”
Teddyspringsfrommylapandrunstogreethisfather,andIreturnthedrawingstoCaroline.“Theseare…interesting.”
Sheshakesherheadandlaughs.“He’snotpossessed,Iswear.It’sjustareallyweirdphase.Andlotsofchildrenhaveimaginaryfriends.Mycolleaguesinpediatricssayit’sextremelycommon.”
ShesoundsembarrassedandI’mquicktoassureherthatofcourseit’sperfectlynormal.“Ibetit’sbecauseofthemove.He’sinventedhersohehassomeonetoplaywith.”
“Ijustwishshewasn’tsoweird-looking.HowamIsupposedtohangthisontherefrigerator?”Carolineturnsthepicturefacedown,thenburiesitinthestackofotherdrawings.“Buthere’sthething,Mallory:Onceyoustartworkinghere,Ibetheforgetsallabouther.He’llbehavingtoomuchfunwithhisnewbabysitter!”
AndIlovehowshe’stalking—liketheinterview’soverandI’vealreadygotthejob,andnowwe’rejustproblem-solving.“I’msuretheplaygroundsherearecrawlingwithkids,”Itellher.“I’llmakesureTeddyhastonsofrealfriendsbeforeschoolstarts.”
“Perfect,”Carolinesays.Outinthehallway,therearefootstepsapproaching,andsheleanscloser.“Also,Imeanttowarnyouaboutmyhusband?He’snotreallycomfortablewithyourhistory.Becauseofthedrugs?Sohe’sgoingtolookforreasonstosayno.Butdon’tworry.”
“Sowhatshould—”
“Also,callhimMr.Maxwell.NotTed.He’lllikethat.”
BeforeIcanaskwhatanyofthismeans,Carolinebacksawayandherhusbandenters,carryingagrinningTeddyonhiship.TedMaxwellisolderthanI’mexpecting,agoodtenorfifteenyearsolderthanCaroline,tallandtrimwithgrayhair,dark-framedglasses,andabeard.He’sdressedindesignerjeans,scuffedOxfords,andasportscoatoveraV-neckT-shirt—thesortofoutfitthatlookscasualbutcoststentimesmorethanyou’deverimagine.
Carolinegreetshimwithakiss.
“Honey,thisisMallory.”
Istandandshakehishand.“Hello,Mr.Maxwell.”
“SorryI’mlate.Somethingcameupatwork.”HeandCarolineexchangealook,andIwonderifsomethingcomesupalot.“How’stheinterviewgoing?”
“Verywell,”Carolinesays.
“Veryverywell!”Teddyexclaims.Hewrigglesoutofhisfather’sarmsandjumpsbackintomylap,likeI’mSantaClausandhewantstotellmeeverythingonhisChristmaslist.“Mallory,doyoulikehide-and-seek?”
“Ilovehide-and-seek,”Itellhim.“Especiallyinbigoldhouseswithlotsofrooms.”
“That’sus!”Teddylooksaroundthedeninwide-eyedastonishment.“Wehaveabigoldhouse!Withlotsofrooms!”
Igivehimalittlesqueeze.“Perfect!”
Tedseemsuncomfortablewiththedirectionoftheconversation.Hetakeshissonbythehandandcoaxeshimoutofmylap.“Listen,buddy,thisisajobinterview.Averyseriousgrown-upconversation.MommyandDaddyneedtoaskMallorysomeimportantquestions.Soyouneedtogoupstairsnow,okay?GoplayLEGOsor—”
Carolineinterruptshim.“Honey,wealreadywentovereverything.IwanttotakeMalloryoutsideandshowhertheguestcottage.”
“Ihavemyownquestions.Givemefiveminutes.”
Tedgiveshissonalittlepush,sendinghimonhisway.Thenheunbuttonshiscoatandsitsacrossfromme.Irealizehe’snotquiteastrimasIthought—hehasabitofapaunch—buttheextraweightsuitshim.Helookswellfed,wellcaredfor.
“Didyoubringanextracopyofyourrésumé?”
Ishakemyheadno.“Sorry.”
“Noproblem.I’vegotitsomewhere.”
Heunbuckleshisbriefcaseandremovesamanilafolderstuffedwithdocuments.Asheflipsthroughthefile,Iseethatit’sfulloflettersandrésumésfromotherapplicants.Theremustbefiftyofthem.“Hereitis,MalloryQuinn.”Andasheextractsmyrésuméfromthepile,Iseeit’scoveredwithhandwrittenannotations.
“CentralHighSchoolbutnocollege,right?”
“Notyet,”Itellhim.
“Areyouenrollinginthefall?”
“No.”
“Spring?”
“No,buthopefullysomedaysoon.”
Tedlooksatmyrésumé,thensquintsandcockshishead,likehecan’tquitemakesenseofit.“Thisdoesn’tsayifyouspeakaforeignlanguage.”
“No,sorry.ImeanunlessyoucountSouthPhilly.‘Doyouseguyswannajawnofthatwooder-ice?’”
Carolinelaughs.“Oh,that’sfunny!”
TedjustmarkshisnoteswithasmallblackX
“Howaboutmusicalinstruments?Anypianoorviolin?”
“No.”
“Visualarts?Painting,drawing,sculpture?”
“No.”
“Haveyoutraveledmuch?Goneabroad?”
“WewenttoDisneywhenIwasten.”
HemarksmyrésuméwithanotherX
“AndnowyouworkforyourauntBecky?”
“She’snotmyaunt.It’sjustthenameofthedaycare:AuntBecky’sChildcare.BecauseABC,getit?”
Hesiftsthroughhisnotes.“Right,right,Iremembernow.They’rearecovery-friendlyworkplace.Doyouknowhowmuchthestatepaysthemtoemployyou?”
Carolinefrowns.“Honey,isthatrelevant?”
“I’mjustcurious.”
“Idon’tmindanswering,”Itellher.“ThestateofPennsylvaniapaysone-thirdofmysalary.”
“Butwewouldpayallofit,”Tedsays,andhestartsscribblingfiguresinthemarginsofmyrésumé,doingsomekindofelaboratecalculation.
“Ted,doyouhaveotherquestions?”Carolineasks.“BecauseMallory’sbeenherealongtime.AndIstillneedtoshowheroutback.”
“That’sfine.I’vegoteverythingIneed.”Ican’thelpbutnoticethathemovesmyrésumétotheverybottomofthestack.“Itwasnicetomeetyou,Mallory.Thanksforcomingby.”
“Don’tmindTed,”Carolinetellsmejustafewmomentslaterasweexitthekitchenthroughslidingglasspatiodoors.“Myhusband’sverysmart.Withcomputers,he’sawizard.Butsocially,he’sawkward,andhedoesn’tunderstandrecoveryatall.Hethinksyou’retoohigh-risk.HewantstohireastudentfromPenn,somewhiz-kidwithsixteenhundredSATscores.ButI’llconvincehimyoudeserveachance.Don’tworry.”
TheMaxwellshaveabigbackyardwithalushgreenlawn,surroundedbytalltreesandshrubsandflowerbedspoppingwithcolor.Thecenterpieceoftheyardisagorgeousswimmingpoolringedwithpatiochairsandumbrellas,likesomethingyou’dseeinaLasVegascasino.
“Thisisbeautiful!”
“Ourprivateoasis,”Carolinesays.“Teddylovesplayingouthere.”
Wewalkacrossthelawn,andthegrassfeelstautandspringy,likethesurfaceofatrampoline.CarolinepointstoatinypathattheedgeoftheyardandtellsmeitdescendsintoHayden’sGlen—athree-hundred-acrenaturepreservecrisscrossedwithtrailsandstreams.“Wewon’tletTeddygoalone,becauseofthecreeks.Butyou’rewelcometotakehimasmuchasyouwant.Justwatchoutforpoisonivy.”
We’venearlycrossedtheyardbeforeIfinallyglimpsetheguestcottage—it’shalf-hiddenbehindthetrees,asiftheforestwereintheprocessofconsumingit.ThehouseremindsmeofthecandycottageintheHanselandGretelstory—it’saminiatureSwisschaletwithrusticwoodsidingandanA-frameroof.Weclimbthreestepstoatinyporch,andCarolineunlocksthefrontdoor.“Thepreviousownerkepthislawnmowerinhere.Useditlikeagardenshed.ButI’vefixeditupforyou.”
Inside,thecottageisjustoneroom,smallbutspotlesslyclean.Thewallsarewhiteandtheroofraftersexposed,thickbrownbeamscrisscrossingtheceiling.Thewoodfloorsaresopristine,I’mcompelledtokickoffmysneakers.Totherightisasmallkitchenette;totheleftisthemostcomfortable-lookingbedI’veeverseen,withafluffywhitecomforterandfourenormouspillows.
“Caroline,thisisamazing.”
“Well,Iknowit’salittletight,butafterbeingwithTeddyallday,Ifiguredyou’dappreciatetheprivacy.Andthebed’sbrand-new.Youshouldgiveitatry.”
Isitontheedgeofthemattressandlieback,andit’slikefallingintoacloud.“OhmyGod.”
“That’saBrentwoodpillowtop.Withthreethousandcoilssupportingyourbody.TedandIhavethesameoneinourbedroom.”
Onthefarsideofthecottage,therearetwodoors.Oneopenstoashallowclosetlinedwithshelves;theotheristheworld’ssmallestbathroom,completewithshower,toilet,andpedestalsink.IstepinsideanddiscoverI’mjustshortenoughtopassbeneaththeshowerheadwithoutducking.
Theentiretourdoesn’ttakemorethanaminute,butIfeelobligatedtospendalittlemoretimeinspectingeverything.Carolinehasoutfittedthecottagewithdozensofsmall,thoughtfuldesigntouches:abedsidereadinglamp,afoldawayironingboard,aUSBchargerforcellphones,andaceilingfantokeeptheaircirculating.Thekitchencabinetsarestockedwithbasicamenities:platesandglasses,mugsandsilverware,allthesamehigh-endstufftheyuseinthemainhouse.Plusafewsimpleprovisionsforcooking:oliveoil,flour,bakingsoda,saltandpepper.CarolineasksifIliketocookandItellherI’mstilllearning.“Me,too,”shesayswithalaugh.“Wecanfigureitouttogether.”
ThenIhearheavyfootstepsontheporchandTedMaxwellopensthedoor.He’stradedhissportscoatforanaquamarinepoloshirt,butevenincasualclotheshestillcutsanintimidatingfigure.I’dhopedIwouldfinishtheinterviewwithoutseeinghimagain.
“Teddyneedsyouforsomething,”hetellsCaroline.“Icanfinishshowingheraround.”
Andit’sawkwardbecauseI’vealreadyseeneverythingthereistosee,butCaroline’soutthedoorbeforeIcansayanything.Tedjuststandsthere,watchingme,likehethinksI’mgoingtostealthesheetsandtowels.
Ismile.“Thisisreallynice.”
“It’sasingle-occupancyapartment.Noguestswithoutpermission.Anddefinitelynosleepovers.It’stooconfusingforTeddy.Willthatbeaproblem?”
“No,I’mnotseeinganyone.”
Heshakeshishead,annoyedthatI’vemissedhispoint.“Wecan’tforbidyoufromseeinganyone,legally.Ijustdon’twantstrangerssleepinginmyyard.”
“Iunderstand.That’sfine.”AndIwanttobelievethisisprogress,likewe’vetakenatinystepclosertoaworkingrelationship.“Doyouhaveotherconcerns?”
Hesmirks.“Howmuchtimedoyouhave?”
“Allthetimethat’snecessary.Ireallywantthisjob.”
Hemovesovertothewindowandpointsoutsidetoasmallpinetree.“Letmetellyouastory.Thedaywemovedintothishouse,CarolineandTeddyfoundababybirdunderthattree.Itmusthavefallenoutofitsnest.Maybeitwaspushed,whoknows?Anyway,mywifehasabig,bigheartsoshefoundashoeboxandfilleditwithshreddedpaperandshestartedfeedingthebabybirdwithsugarwater,fromaneyedropper.MeanwhileI’vegotmoversinthedriveway,I’mtryingtounpackthewholehousesowecanstartalifetogether,andCaroline’stellingTeddyhowthey’regoingtonursethisbabybirdbacktohealth,andonedayit’sgoingtosoarhighoverthetreetops.AndofcourseTeddylovesthisidea.HenamesthebirdRobertandhechecksonRoberteveryhour,hetreatsthebirdlikeababybrother.Butwithinforty-eighthours,Robertisdead.AndIsweartoyou,Mallory,Teddycriedforaweek.Hewasdevastated.Overababybird.Sothepointis,weneedtobeextracarefulaboutthepersonweinvitetolivewithus.Andgivenyourhistory,Iworryyou’retoomuchofagamble.”
AndhowcanIarguewithhim?ThejobpaysgoodmoneyandTedhasafolderstuffedwithapplicationsfromwomenwhohaveneverbeenaddictedtodrugs.Hecouldhireafresh-facednursingschoolstudentwho’strainedinCPRorafive-timegrandmotherfromHonduraswhogivesSpanishlessonswhilepreparinghomemadeenchiladasverdes.Withoptionslikethese,whytakeachanceonme?Irealizemybesthopenowistoplaymytrumpcard—mylast-minutegiftfromRussell,beforeIgotoutofhiscar.
“IthinkIhaveasolution.”Ireachinmybagandremovesomethingthatlookslikeapapercreditcardwithfivecottontabsonthebottom.“Thisisadrugtestdipcard.They’reabuckapieceonAmazon,andIwillhappilypayforthemoutofmyownwages.Theytestformeth,opiates,amphetamines,cocaine,andTHC.ResultstakefiveminutesandIwillvoluntarilysubmittotestingeveryweek,onrandomdaysofyourchoosing,soyouneverhavetoworry.Wouldthatputyourmindatease?”
IofferthecardtoTedandheholdsitatadistance,likehe’sdisgustedbyit,likesomehowit’salreadydrippingwithwarmyellowurine.“No,see,thisistheproblem,”hesays.“Youseemlikeaniceperson.Iwishyouallthebest,Ireallydo.ButIwantanannywhodoesn’thavetopeeinacupeveryweek.Youcanunderstandthat,right?”
IwaitinthefoyerofthemainhousewhileTedandCarolinesquabbleinthekitchen.Ican’thearthespecificsoftheconversationbutit’sprettyclearwho’sarguingwhat.Caroline’svoiceispatientandpleading;Ted’sresponsesareshort,harsh,andstaccato.It’slikelisteningtoaviolinandajackhammer.
Whentheyfinallyreturntothefoyer,theirfacesareflushed,andCarolineforcesasmile.“Wefeelbadkeepingyouwaiting,”shesays.“We’regonnatalkmoreandbeintouch,okay?”
Andweallknowwhatthatmeans,right?
Tedopensthedoorandpracticallyshovesmeoutsideintotheswelteringsummerheat.Thefrontofthehouseissomuchwarmerthanthebackyard.IfeellikeI’mstandingontheborderofparadiseandtherealworld.Iputonabravefaceandthankthemfortheinterview.ItellthemI’dlovetobeconsideredforthejob,thatIwouldreallyenjoy
Andthey’reabouttoclosethedoorwhenlittleTeddysqueezesbetweenhisparents’legsandhandsmeasheetofpaper.“Mallory,Idrewyouapicture.Asapresent.Youcantakeithomewithyou.”
Carolinelooksovermyshoulderandsharplydrawsinherbreath.“Ohmygosh,Teddy,it’sbeautiful!”
AndIknowit’sjustacoupleofstickfiguresbutthere’sasweetnesstothedrawingthatreallygetsme.IcrouchdownsoIamstaringeyetoeyewithTeddy,andthistimehedoesn’tflinchorrunaway.“Ilovethisdrawing,Teddy.AssoonasIgethome,I’mgoingtohangitonmywall.Thankyousomuch.”Iopenmyarmsforaquickhugandhegivesmeabigone,wrappinghisshortarmsaroundmyneckandburyinghisfaceintomyshoulder.It’sthemostphysicalcontactI’vehadinmonthsandIfeelmyselfgettingemotional;atearsqueezesoutthecornerofmyeyeandIwipeitaway,laughing.MaybeTeddy’sfatherdoesn’tbelieveinme,maybehethinksI’mjustanotherburnoutdoomedtorelapse,buthisadorablelittleboythinksI’manangel.“Thankyou,Teddy.Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou.”
Itakemytimegoingtothetrainstation.Istrollalongtheshadysidewalks,pastlittlegirlsmakingchalkdrawingsandteenageboysshootingbasketsindrivewaysandlawnsprinklersgoingfitz!-fitz!-fitz!-fitz!Iwalkthroughthelittleshoppingdistrict,pastthesmoothieshopandthemobofteenagersstandingoutsidetheStarbucks.IimaginehowniceitmustbetogrowupinSpringBrook—inatownwhereeveryonehasenoughmoneytopaytheirbillsandnothingbadeverhappens.AndIwishIdidn’thavetoleave.
IgoinsidetheStarbucksandorderastrawberrylemonade.Asarecoveringaddict,I’vedecidedtoavoideverykindofpsychoactivestimulant,includingcaffeine(butI’mnottotallycrazy;I’llstillmakeanexceptionforchocolate,sinceitonlyhasacouplemilligrams).I’mspearingmystrawthroughthelidwhenIrecognizeRussellonthefarsideofthediningroom,drinkingblackcoffeeandreadingthesportspagesofthePhiladelphiaInquirer.He’sprobablythelastmaninAmericawhostillbuysaprintnewspaper.
“Youshouldn’thavewaited,”Itellhim.
Heclosesthepaperandsmiles.“Ihadahunchyou’dstophere.AndIwanttoknowhowitwent.Tellmeeverything.”
“Itwashorrible.”
“Whathappened?”
“Yourtrumpcardwasadisaster.Itdidn’twork.”
Russellstartslaughing.“Quinn,themotheralreadycalledme.Tenminutesago.Assoonasyouleftherhouse.”
“Shedid?”
“She’safraidsomeotherfamilyisgoingtostealyou.Shewantsyoutostartassoonaspossible.”
3
Packingmystufftakestenminutes.Idon’thaveatonofbelongings,justsomeclothesandtoiletriesandaBible.RussellgivesmeasecondhandsuitcasesoIwon’thavetocarryeverythinginaplasticgarbagebag.MyhousematesatSafeHarborthrowmeasadlittlegoing-awaypartywithtake-outChineseandaShopRitesheetcake.Andjustthreenightsaftermyjobinterview,IleavePhiladelphiaandreturntoFantasyland,readytostartmynewlifeasananny.
IfTedMaxwellstillhasconcernsabouthiringme,hedoesagreatjobofhidingthem.HeandTeddymeetmeatthetrainstationandTeddyiscarryingabouquetofyellowdaisies.“Ipickedtheseout,”hesays,“butDaddyboughtthem.”
Hisfatherinsistsoncarryingmysuitcasetothecar—andonthedrivetothehouse,theygivemeashorttouroftheneighborhood,pointingoutthepizzashopandthebookstoreandanoldrailtrailthat’spopularwithrunnersandcyclists.There’snotraceoftheoldTedMaxwell—theunsmilingengineerwhogrilledmeonforeignlanguagesandinternationaltravel.TheNewTedMaxwellisjovialandinformal(“Please,callmeTed!”)andevenhisclothesappearmorerelaxed.He’swearingaBarcelonasoccerjersey,dadjeans,andpristineNewBalance995s.
Laterthatafternoon,Carolinehelpsmeunpackandsettleintothecottage.IaskaboutTed’sabrupttransformation,andshelaughs.“Itoldyouhe’dcomearound.HeseeshowmuchTeddylikesyou.Morethananyoneelseweinterviewed.Itwastheeasiestdecisionwe’veevermade.”
Wealleatdinnerontheflagstonepatiointhebackyard.Tedgrillshissignatureshrimp-and-scallopkabobsandCarolineserveshome-brewedicedteaandTeddyrunsaroundthegrasslikeawhirlingdervish,stillastonishedthatI’vecometolivewiththemfull-time,everyday,allsummerlong.“Ican’tbelieveit,Ican’tbelieveit!”heexclaims,andthenhefallsbackontothelawn,deliriouslyhappy.
“Ican’tbelieveit,either,”Itellhim.“I’msogladtobehere.”
Andbeforewe’veevenhaddessert,they’vealreadymademefeellikeamemberofthefamily.CarolineandTedshareagentleandrelaxedaffection.Theyfinisheachother’ssentencesandpickfoodfromeachother’splates,andtogethertheytellmethecharmingfairy-talestoryofhowtheymetattheLincolnCenterBarnesandNoblesomefifteenyearsago.Midwaythroughthestory,Ted’shandreflexivelydriftstohiswife’sknee,andsherestsherhandontop,weavingtheirfingerstogether.
Eventheirdisagreementsarekindoffunnyandcharming.Atonepointinthemeal,Teddyannounceshehastogotothebathroom.Istandtogowithhim,butTeddywavesmeoff.“I’mfiveyearsold,”heremindsme.“Thebathroomisaprivateplace.”
“Attaboy,”Tedsays.“Don’tforgettowashyourhands.”
Ireturntomyseat,feelingfoolish,butCarolinetellsmenottoworry.“ThisisanewphaseforTeddy.He’sexertinghisindependence.”
“Andstayingoutofprison,”Tedadds
Carolineseemsirkedbythewisecrack.Idon’tunderstandwhatitmeans,sosheexplains.
“Afewmonthsago,wehadanincident.Teddywasshowingofftoacouplechildren.Imean,hewasexposinghimself.TypicallittleboybehaviorbutitwasnewtomesoImayhavehadanoverreaction.”
Tedlaughs.“Youmayhavecalleditsexualassault.”
“Ifhewereanadultmale,itwouldbesexualassault.Thatwasmypoint,Ted.”Carolineturnstome.“ButIagreeIcouldhavechosenmywordsalittlemorecarefully.”
“Theboycan’teventiehisownshoes,”Tedsays,“andalreadyhe’sasexualpredator.”
Carolinemakesanexaggeratedshowofremovingherhusband’shandfromherknee.“Thepointis,Teddylearnedhislesson.Privatepartsareprivate.Wedon’tshowthemtostrangers.Andnextwe’regoingtoteachhimaboutconsentandinappropriatetouchingbecauseit’simportantforhimtolearnthesethings.”
“Iagreeonehundredpercent,”Tedsays.“Ipromiseyou,Caroline,he’llbethemostenlightenedboyinhisclass.Youdon’thavetoworry.”
“He’sreallysweet,”Iassureher.“Withyouguysraisinghim,I’msurehe’sgoingtobefine.”
Carolinetakesherhusband’shandandreturnsittoherknee.“Iknowyou’reright.Ijustworryabouthimanyway.Ican’thelpit!”
Andbeforetheconversationcangoanyfurther,Teddycomeshurryingbacktothetable,breathlessandwild-eyedandreadytoplay.
“Speakofthedevil!”Tedsays,laughing.
Oncewe’vefinisheddessertandit’stimetogointhepool,I’mforcedtoadmitthatIdon’tactuallyownaswimsuit—thatIhaven’tbeenswimmingsincehighschool.Sotheverynextday,Tedgivesmeanadvanceof$500againstfuturewages,andCarolinedrivesmetothemalltoshopforaone-piece.Andlaterthatafternoonshestopsbymycottagewithadozenoutfitsonhangers,reallynicedressesandtopsfromBurberryandDiorandDKNY,allneworbarelyworn.Shesaysshe’salreadygrownoutofthem,thatshe’sballoonedtoasizeeight,andI’mwelcometotheclothesbeforesheturnsthemovertoGoodwill.
“Also,you’regoingtothinkI’mparanoid,butIboughtyouoneofthese.”Shehandsmeatinypinkflashlightwithtwometalprongsstickingoutthetop.“Incaseyougorunningatnight.”
Iswitchitonandthere’saloudcrackleofelectricity;I’msostartledIimmediatelydropit,andthedeviceclatterstothefloor.
“I’msorry!Ithoughtitwas—”
“No,no,Ishouldhavewarnedyou.It’saVipertekMini.Youclipitonyourkeychain.”Sheretrievesthestungunfromthefloorandthendemonstratesitsfeatures.TherearebuttonslabeledLIGHTandSTUN,plusasafetyswitchthattogglesonandoff.“Itfirestenthousandvolts.ItestedmineonTed?Justtoseeifitworked?Hesaiditfeltlikehe’dbeenstruckbylightning.”
I’mnotsurprisedtolearnthatCarolinecarriesaweaponforself-defense.She’smentionedthatmanyofherpatientsattheVAhospitalhavementalhealthissues.ButIcan’timaginewhyI’dneedastungunforjoggingaroundSpringBrook.
“Istherealotofcrimehere?”
“Hardlyever.Buttwoweeksago?Agirlyouragewascarjacked.RightintheWegmansparkinglot.SomeguymadeherdrivetoanATMandtakeoutthreehundreddollars.SoIfigurebettersafethansorry,youknow?”
She’swaitingexpectantly,andIrealizeshewon’tbesatisfieduntilIgetoutmykeyringandattachthedevice,anditfeelslikemymother’slookingaftermeagain.
“Iloveit,”ItellCaroline.“Thankyou.”
ThejobitselfisprettyeasyandIadjusttomynewroutinequickly.Atypicalworkdaygoessomethinglikethis:
6:30—Iwakeupearly,noalarmneeded,becausetheforestisalivewithbirdsongs.Ipullonarobeandmakemyselfhotteaandoatmeal,andthenI’llsitonmyporchandwatchthesunriseovertheswimmingpool.I’llseeallkindsofwildlifegrazingontheedgeoftheyard:squirrelsandfoxes,rabbitsandraccoons,anoccasionaldeer.IfeellikeSnowWhiteintheoldanimatedcartoon.Istartleavingoutplattersofblueberriesandsunflowerseeds,encouragingtheanimalstojoinmeforbreakfast.
7:30—Iwalkacrosstheyardandenterthebighousethroughtheslidingpatiodoors.Tedleavesearlyforwork,sohe’salreadygone.ButCarolineinsistsonservingahotbreakfasttoherson.Teddyispartialtohomemadewaffles,andshecookstheminaspecialgadgetthat’sshapedlikeMickeyMouse.I’llcleanupthekitchenwhileCarolinegetsreadyforwork,andwhenit’sfinallytimeforMommytoleave,TeddyandIfollowheroutsidetothedrivewayandwavegoodbye.
8:00—BeforeTeddyandIcanstartthedayinearnest,wehavetocompleteacoupleminorchores.FirstIneedtolayoutTeddy’sclothes,butthisiseasybecausehealwayswearsthesamething.ThekidhasavastwardrobeofadorableoutfitsfromGapKidsbuthealwaysinsistsonwearingthesamestripedpurpleshirt.CarolinehasgrowntiredofwashingitsoshewentbacktoTheGapandboughtfivemoreofthesametop.She’swillingtoindulgehim,butshe’saskedmeto“gentlyencourage”otherchoices.WhenIlayouthisclothes,I’msupposedtoofferacoupledifferentoptions,buthealwayslandsonthesamepurplestripes.Afterward,I’llhelphimbrushhisteethandI’llwaitoutsidethebathroomwhileheusesthepotty,andthenwe’rereadytostartourday.
8:30—Itrytostructureeverymorningaroundabigactivityorouting.We’llwalktothelibrarytoattendaStorytimeHour,orwe’llgotothesupermarketandbuyingredientstomakecookies.Teddyiseasytopleaseandneverbalksatmysuggestions.WhenItellhimIhavetogointotowntobuytoothpaste,hereactslikewe’regoingtoSixFlags.He’sajoytobearound—smart,affectionate,andfullofmind-bogglingquestions:Whatistheoppositeofsquare?Whydogirlshavesuchlonghair?Iseverythingintheworld“real”?Inevergettiredoflisteningtohim.HeislikethelittlebrotherIneverhad.
12:00—Afterourmorningactivity,I’llprepareasimplelunch—macandcheeseorpizzabagelsorchickennuggets.TeddywillgointohisbedroomforQuietTime,andI’lltakeanhourformyself.I’llreadabook,orI’lllistentoapodcastonmyheadphones.OrsometimesI’lljustlieonthecouchandcatchatwenty-minutecatnap.EventuallyTeddywillcomedownstairsandshakemeawakeandhe’llhaveoneortwonewdrawingstoshare.Oftenheillustratesourfavoriteactivities—he’llshowuswalkingthroughtheforestorplayinginthebackyardorhangingaroundmycottage.Ikeepthesedrawingsonthedoorofmyrefrigerator—agalleryofhisartisticprogress.
2:00—Thisisusuallythehottestpartoftheday,sowe’llstayinsideplayingChutesandLaddersorMouseTrap,andthenwe’llslatheronsunscreenandgoouttothepool.Teddydoesn’tknowhowtoswim(andI’mnotverygoodmyself),soImakesureheputsonfloatiesbeforewegetinthewater.Thenwe’llplaytagorhaveaswordfightwiththepoolnoodles.Orwe’llclimbatopthelargeinflatableraftandplaymake-believegameslikeCastawayorTitanic.
5:00—CarolinegetshomeandI’llrecapmydaywithTeddywhileshestartspreparingdinner.ThenI’llgooutforarun,anywherefromthreetoeightmiles,dependingonwhatRussellrecommends.I’llpassallkindsofpeopleoutontheirsidewalksorwateringtheirlawns,andeveryoneassumesI’maresidentofSpringBrook.Someoftheneighborswillevenwaveandcallouthello,likeI’vebeenlivinghereallmylife,likeImustbesomeone’sdaughterhomefromcollegeonsummerbreak.AndIlovethewayitmakesmefeel—thesenseofcommunity—likeI’vefinallyarrivedintheplacewhereIbelong.
7:00—AfterrunningI’lltakeaquickshowerintheworld’ssmallestbathroom,andI’llfixmyselfasimplemealinthecottage’stinykitchen.Onceortwiceaweek,I’llwalkdowntowntobrowsethelocalshopsandrestaurants.OrI’llattendanopenmeetinginthechurchbasementofOurLadytheRedeemer.ThediscussionleadersareverygoodandtheparticipantsarefriendlybutI’malwaystheyoungestpersoninthecirclebyatleasttenyears,soI’mnotexpectingtomakeatonofnewfriends.Icertainlydon’tstickaroundfor“themeetingafterthemeeting,”wheneveryonewalksdowntheblocktoPaneraBreadtocomplainabouttheirkids,theirmortgages,theirjobs,etc.AfterjusttwoweeksoflivingwiththeMaxwells,safelycocoonedfromalltemptations,I’mnotevensureIneedmeetingsanymore.IthinkIcanhandlethingsonmyown.
9:00—BythistimeI’musuallyinbed,readingalibrarybookorwatchingamovieonmyphone.Asagifttomyself,IopenasubscriptiontotheHallmarkChannelsoIcanstreamunlimitedromancesfor$5.99amonth,andthey’retheperfectwaytounwindattheendofthenight.AsIturnoutthelightandrestmyheadonmypillow,Irevelinthecomfortofhappilyeverafter—offamiliesreunitedandscoundrelssentpacking,oftreasuresrecoveredandhonorrestored.
Maybethisallsoundsboring.Iknowit’snotrocketscience.IrealizeI’mnotchangingtheworldorcuringcancer.Butafterallmytroubles,IfeellikeI’vetakenahugestepforward,andI’mproudofmyself.Ihavemyownplacetoliveandasteadypaycheck.I’mcookingnutritiousmealsandsettingasidetwohundredaweekforsavings.IfeellikemyworkwithTeddyisimportant.AndIfeelvalidatedbyTedandCaroline’sabsolutefaithinme.
EspeciallyTed’s.Idon’tseemuchofhimduringtheday,becauseheleavesforhisofficeatsixthirtyeverymorning.ButsometimesI’llseehimatnight,afterI’mbackfromarun.He’llbesittingonthepatiowithhislaptopandaglassofwine,orhe’llbeoutintheswimmingpooldoinglaps,andhe’llwavemeoverandaskaboutmyrun.Orhe’llaskaboutmydaywithTeddy.Orhe’llaskmyopinionofsomerandomconsumerbrand—Nike,PetSmart,Gillette,L.L.Bean,andsoon.Tedexplainsthathiscompanydesigns“back-endsoftware”forbigcorporationsallovertheworld,andhe’sconstantlyseekingoutnewpartnerships.“WhatdoyouthinkofUrbanOutfitters?”he’llaskme,or“HaveyouevereatendinnerataCrackerBarrel?”Andthenhe’llreallylistentomyanswers,asifmyopinionsmightactuallyshapehisbusinessdecisions.Andit’sflattering,tobehonest.ApartfromRussell,Ihaven’tmetatonofpeoplewhocarewhatIthink.SoI’malwayshappytoseeTed,andIalwaysfeelalittlechargewhenheinvitesmeovertotalk.
Ironically,theonlypersonatmynewjobwhogivesmeanytroubleistheonepersonwhodoesn’texist:Anya.Teddy’simaginaryBFFhasanannoyinghabitofunderminingmyinstructions.Forexample,onedayIaskTeddytopickuphisdirtyclothesandputtheminhislaundryhamper.Twohourslater,I’mbackinhisbedroom,andtheclothesarestillscatteredacrossthefloor.“AnyasaysMommyshoulddothat,”hetellsme.“Anyasaysthat’sherjob.”
AnothertimeI’mfryingcrispytofusquaresforlunchandTeddyasksmeforahamburger.Itellhimhecan’thaveone.Iremindhimthathisfamilydoesn’teatredmeatbecauseit’sbadfortheenvironment,becausecattleareoneofthelargestsourcesofgreenhousegases.IservehimaplateoftofuandwhitericeandTeddyjustpushesthefoodaroundwithhisfork.“AnyathinksIwouldreallylikemeat,”hesays.“Anyathinkstofuisgarbage.”
NowI’mnoexpertinchildpsychologybutIunderstandwhatTeddyisdoing:usingAnyaasanexcusetogethisway.IaskCarolineforadviceandshesayswejustneedtobepatient,thattheproblemwilleventuallytakecareofitself.“He’salreadygettingbetter,”sheinsists.“WheneverIcomehomefromwork,it’salways‘Mallorythis’and‘Mallorythat.’Ihaven’theardAnya’snameinaweek.”
ButTedurgesmetotakeastrongerstance.“Anyaisapainintheass.Shedoesn’tmaketherulesaroundhere.Wedo.Nexttimeshesharesheropinions,justremindTeddythatAnyaisn’treal.”
Idecideonanapproachthat’ssomewherebetweenthesetwoextremes.OneafternoonwhileTeddyisupstairsinQuietTime,Ibakeatrayofhisfavoritesnickerdoodlecookies.Andwhenhecomesdownstairswithanewdrawing,Iinvitehimtositatthetable.Ibringoverthecookiesandtwoglassesofcoldmilk,andIcasuallyaskhimtotellmemoreaboutAnya.
“Howdoyoumean?”He’sinstantlysuspicious.
“Wheredidyoumeet?What’sherfavoritecolor?Howoldisshe?”
Teddyshrugs,likeallthesequestionsareimpossibletoanswer.Hisgazemovesaroundthekitchen,likehe’ssuddenlyreluctanttomakeeyecontact.
“Doesshehaveajob?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Whatdoesshedoallday?”
“I’mnotsure.”
“Doessheevercomeoutofyourbedroom?”
Teddyglancesacrossthetabletoanemptychair.
“Sometimes.”
Ilookatthechair.
“IsAnyaherenow?Sittingwithus?”
Heshakeshishead.“No.”
“Wouldshelikeacookie?”
“She’snothere,Mallory.”
“WhatdoyouandAnyatalkabout?”
Teddylowershisnosetohisplateuntilhisfaceisjustinchesabovehiscookies.“Iknowshe’snotreal,”hewhispers.“Youdon’thavetoproveit.”
HesoundssadanddisappointedandsuddenlyIfeelguilty—likeI’vejustbulliedafive-year-oldboyintoadmittingthereisn’tanySantaClaus.
“Listen,Teddy,mylittlesister,Beth,hadafriendlikeAnya.HerfriendwasCassiopeia,isn’tthatabeautifulname?Duringtheday,CassiopeiaworkedforaDisneyonIceshowthattraveledallovertheworld.ButeverynightshecamebacktoourrowhouseinSouthPhillyandshesleptonthefloorinourbedroom.IhadtobecarefulIdidn’tsteponher,becauseshewasinvisible.”
“DidBeththinkCassiopeiawasreal?”
“WepretendedCassiopeiawasreal.Anditworkedoutfine,becauseBethneverusedCassiopeiaasanexcusetobreakrules.Doesthatmakesense?”
“Iguess,”Teddysays,andthenheshiftsinhischair,likehehasasuddenpaininhisside.“Ihavetogotothebathroom.Ihavetomakenumbertwo.”Thenheclimbsdownfromhischairandhurriesoutofthekitchen.
Hehasn’ttouchedanyofhissnack.IcoverthecookieswithSaranWrapandputhisglassofmilkintherefrigeratorforlater.ThenIgoovertothesinkandwashallthedishes.WhenI’mfinallyfinished,Teddyisstillinthebathroom.IsitatthetableandrealizeI’veyettoadmirehislatestdrawing,soIreachforthesheetofpaperandturnitright-side-up.
4
Teddy’sparentshavestrictrulesaboutscreentime,sohehasneverseenStarWarsorToyStoryoranyofthemoviesthatotherkidslove.He’snotevenallowedtowatchSesameStreet.ButonceaweektheMaxwellsgatherinthedenforFamilyMovieNight.CarolinewillmakepopcornandTedwillstreamafilmwith“genuineartisticmerit,”whichusuallymeansoldortaggedwithforeignlanguagesubtitles,andIpromisetheonlyoneyou’veeverheardofisTheWizardofOz.Teddylovesthestoryandheclaimsitishisfavoritemovieofalltime.
Sowhenwe’reoutsideintheswimmingpoolwe’lloftenplayamake-believegamecalledLandofOz.We’llclingtotheinflatableliferaftandTeddywillplayDorothy,andI’llplayeveryoneelseinthemovie—Toto,theScarecrow,theWickedWitch,andalltheMunchkins.AndnottobragbutIpulloutallthestops,IsinganddanceandflapmyFlyingMonkeywingsandcarryonlikeit’sOpeningNightonBroadway.Ittakesusnearlyanhourtoreachtheendofthestory,whentheraftturnsintoahot-airballoonthatcarriesTeddy-DorothybacktoKansas.Andbythetimewefinishandtakeourbows,I’msocoldmyteetharechattering.Ihavetogetoutofthewater.
“No!”Teddyexclaims.
“Sorry,T-Bear,I’mfreezing.”
Ispreadatowelontheconcretedeckattheedgeofthepool,thenlayouttodryinthesun.Temperatureshavesoaredintothelownineties—thesunisstrongandquicklybakesawaymychills.Teddykeepssplashingnearby.Hisnewgameisfillinghismouthwithwaterandthenspittingitout,likehe’sawingedcherubinafountain.
“Youshouldn’tdothat,”Itellhim.“There’schlorine.”
“Willitmakemesick?”
“Ifyouswallowenough,yes.”
“AndwouldIdie?”
Suddenlyheisveryconcerned.Ishakemyhead.
“Ifyoudrankthewholeswimmingpool,yes,youwouldprobablydie.Butdon’tdrinkevenalittle,okay?”
Teddyclimbsontotheraftandpaddlestotheedgeofthewater,sowe’rebothlyingparallel—Teddyontheraftandmeonthedeck.
“Mallory?”
“Yeah?”
“Whathappenswhenpeopledie?”
Ilookover.He’sstaringdownintothewater.
“Howdoyoumean?”
“Imean,whathappenstothepersoninsidethebody?”
NowobviouslyIhavestrongopinionsonthissubject.IbelieveinGod’sgiftofeternallife.Idrawalotofstrengthfromknowingthatmylittlesister,Beth,issurroundedbyangels.AndIknowthatsomeday,ifI’mlucky,we’llbereunitedinheaven.ButIdon’tshareanyofthiswithTeddy.Istillremembermyjobinterviewandrulenumberten:noreligionorsuperstition.Teachscience.
“Ithinkyoushouldaskyourparents.”
“Whycan’tyoutellme?”
“I’mnotsureIknowtheanswer.”
“Isitpossiblesomepeoplediebutstayalive?”
“Likeghosts?”
“No,notscary.”He’sstrugglingtoexpresshimself—thewayweallstruggle,Iguess,whendiscussingthesethings.“Doesanypartofthepersonstayalive?”
“Thatisabig,complicatedquestion,Teddy.Ireallythinkyoushouldaskyourparents.”
He’sfrustratedbymynonanswer,butheseemsresignedtothefactthatI’mnotgoingtohelphim.“WellthencanweplayLandofOzagain?”
“Wejustfinished!”
“Onlythemeltingscene,”hesays.“Justtheending.”
“Fine.ButI’mnotgettingbackinwater.”
Istandupandwrapmytowelaroundmyshoulders,holdingitlikeawitch’scloak.Icurlmyfingersintoclawsandcacklemaniacally.“I’llgetyou,mypretty,andyourlittledog,too!”TeddysplashesmewithwaterandIscreamloudenoughtoscarethebirdsfromthetrees.“Oh,youcursedrat!Oh,lookwhatyou’vedone!”WithincredibledramaticflairIsinktothepatio,wavingmyarmsandwrithinginagony.“I’mmelting!I’mmelting!Oh,whataworld,whataworld!”TeddylaughsandapplaudsasIcollapseontomyback,closemyeyes,andstickoutmytongue.IgivemylegsafewfinaltwitchesandthenI’mstill.
“Uh,miss?”
Iopenmyeyes.
There’sayoungmannotfivefeetaway,standingonthefarsideofthepoolfence.He’swirybutwellbuilt,dressedingrass-stainedkhakis,aRutgersT-shirt,andworkgloves.“I’mwithLawnKing?Thelandscapers?”
“Hola,Adrian!”Teddyexclaims.
Adrianwinksathim.“Hola,Teddy.?Cómoestás?”
Itrytopullmytowelovermybody,onlyI’malreadylyingontopofit,soIendupthrashingandflailinglikeabeetleflippedontoitsback.
“I’mgonnabringthebigmoweraround,ifthat’sokay.Ijustwantedtogiveyouaheads-up.It’sprettyloud.”
“Sure,”Itellhim.“Wecangoinside.”
“No,wehavetowatch!”Teddysays.
AdrianleavestogetthemowerandIlookatTeddy.“Whydowehavetowatch?”
“BecauseIlovethebigmower!It’samazing!”
IhearthemowercomingbeforeIseeit,theloudgasolineenginerippingthroughthesilenceofourbackyardsanctuary.AndthenAdriancomestearingaroundthesideofthehouse,ridingatopamachinethat’ssomewherebetweenatractorandago-kart.He’sstandinginthebackandleaningoverthesteeringwheel,likehe’sracinganATV,leavingstripesoffresh-cutgrassinhiswake.Teddyclimbsoutofthepoolandrunstothefencesohecanseebetter.Thelandscaperisshowingoff,takingturnswaytoofast,drivinginreverse,evenpullinghishatdownoverhiseyessohe’sdrivingblind.It’snotthebestexampletosetforalittlekid,butTeddyisriveted;hewatchesinopenmouthedastonishmentlikeit’saperformanceofCirqueduSoleil.ForhisGrandFinale,Adrianspeedsupinreverse,slamsthegearshiftintodrive,andthenhurtlestowardus,poppingawheelie,keepingthemoweraloftforthreeterrifyingsecondssowecanseeitsfuriouslyspinningblades.Andthenwithaloudcrashthewholemachinecomesdown,stoppinginchesshyofthepoolfence.
AdrianhopsoffthesideandoffersthekeystoTeddy.“Youwanttotakeherforaspin?”
“Really?”Teddyasks.
“No!”Itellthem.“Thatisdefinitelynothappening.”
“Maybewhenyouturnsix,”Adriansays,winkingathim.“Areyougoingtointroducemetoyournewfriend?”
Teddyshrugs.“Thisismybabysitter.”
“MalloryQuinn.”
“It’sgreattomeetyou,Mallory.”
Hepullsoffhisworkgloveandsticksouthishandandthere’ssomethingoddlyformalaboutthegesture—especiallysinceI’minaone-pieceandhe’scoveredinmudstainsandgrassclippings.It’smyfirsthinttheremightbemoretohimthanmeetstheeye.Theinsideofhispalmfeelshardened,likeleather.
SuddenlyTeddyrememberssomethingandhestartsfumblingtoopenthepool’schild-proofgate.
“Whereareyougoing?”
“ImadeAdrianapicture,”hesays.“It’sinside.Upinmybedroom.”
Iliftthelatchsohecangetout,andTeddysprintsacrossthelawn.“Yourfeetarestillwet!”Icallafterhim.“Becarefulonthestairs!”
“Okay!”heshoutsback.
AdrianandIareforcedtomakeawkwardconversationuntilTeddyreturns.It’sreallyhardtopinpointhisage.Hisbodyisalladult—tall,lean,tanned,muscular—buthisfaceisstillboyishandalittleshy.Hecouldbeanywherefromseventeentotwenty-five.
“Ilovethiskid,”Adriansays.“HelearnedsomeSpanishinBarcelonasoI’vebeenteachinghimnewphrases.Doyouwatchhimfull-time?”
“Justforthesummer.HestartsschoolinSeptember.”
“Howaboutyou?Wheredoyougo?”
AndIrealizehe’smistakenmeforafellowstudent.HemustthinkI’maneighbor,thatIlivehereinSpringBrook,wherealltheyoungwomenattendfour-yearcollegesanduniversities.IstarttocorrecthimbutIdon’tknowhowtosay“Idon’tgoanywhere”withoutsoundinglikeafailure.IknowIcouldsharemywholeawfulbackstory,butforthesakeofsmalltalkIjustgoalongwithhisassumption.Ipretendthatmylifehadn’tgoneofftherailsandeverythinghadhappenedaccordingtoplan.
“PennState.I’monthewomen’scross-countryteam.”
“Nokidding!You’reaBigTenathlete?”
“Technically,yes.Butthefootballteamgetsalltheglory.You’renevergonnaseeusonESPN.”
Iknowit’swrongtolie.Abigpartofrecovery—probablythemostimportantpart—isowningyourpastandacknowledgingallthemistakesyou’vemade.ButIhavetosayitfeelsprettynicetoembracethefantasy,topretendI’mstillanormalteenagerwithnormalteenagedreams.
Adriansnapshisfingers,likehe’ssuddenlymadeaconnection.“Doyougorunningatnight?Aroundtheneighborhood?”
“That’sme.”
“I’veseenyoutraining!You’rereallyfast!”
AndI’mwonderingwhythelandscapersmightbeworkingintheneighborhoodafterdarkbutthere’snotimetoaskbecauseTeddy’salreadyrunningbackacrosstheyard,clutchingasheetofpaper.“Hereitis,”hesays,windedandoutofbreath.“Isaveditforyou.”
“Oh,buddy,thisisamazing!”Adriansays.“Checkoutthosesunglasses!Ilookprettygood,right?”HeshowsmethepictureandIhavetolaugh.HelookslikethestickfigurefromHangman.
“Veryhandsome,”Iagree.
“Muyguapo,”AdriansaystoTeddy.“That’syournewwordfortheweek.Itmeanssuper-good-looking.”
“Muyguapo?”
“Bueno!That’sperfect!”
Acrosstheyard,anoldmanwalksaroundthesideoftheMaxwells’house.He’sshort,withwrinkledbrownskinandclose-croppedgrayhair.HeshoutsAdrian’snameandit’sclearhe’snothappy.“?Quédemonosestáshaciendo?”
Adrianwavestohim,thenshootsanamusedlookinourdirection.“It’sElJefe.Igottago.ButI’llbebackintwoweeks,Teddy.Thankyouforthepicture.Andgoodluckwithyourtraining,Mallory.I’mgonnawatchforyouonESPN,allright?”
“Prisa!”theoldmanyells.“Venaqui!”
“Okay,okay!”Adrianshoutsback.Hejumpsontothemower,startsitup,andcrossestheyardinseconds.IcanhearhimapologizinginSpanishbuttheoldmanjustyellsoverhim,andtheycontinuearguingastheydisappeararoundthesideofthehouse.IhavearudimentarygraspofSpanishfromhighschool—Istillremembereljefemeans“theboss”—butthey’retalkingtoofastformetokeepup.
Teddyseemsconcerned.“IsAdrianintrouble?”
“Ihopenot.”ThenIlookaroundtheyardandmarvelatthefactthat—forallAdrian’shigh-speeddaredevilantics—thenewlycutgrasslooksfantastic.
TheMaxwellshaveasmalloutdoorshoweronthebackoftheirhousesotheycanrinseoffafterswimming.It’satinywoodenstallaboutthesizeofanold-fashionedphonebooth,andCarolinestocksitwithabsurdlyexpensiveshampoosandbodywashes.TeddygoesfirstandIshoutinstructionsthroughthedoor,remindinghimtorinsehishairandshakeouthisbathingsuit.Whenhe’sfinished,heshufflesoutsidewithabeachtowelwrappedaroundhisbody.“I’maveggieburrito!”
“You’readorable,”Itellhim.“GogetdressedandI’llmeetyouupstairs.”
I’mhangingmytowelandgettingreadytoenterthestallwhenIhearawomancallingmyname.“It’sMallory,right?Thenewsitter?”
IturnandseetheMaxwells’next-doorneighborhurryingacrossthelawn,ashortoldwomanwithwidehipsandawobblygait.Carolinehaswarnedmethatshe’sveryflakyandrarelyleavesherhouseandyetheresheis,dressedinanaquamarinemuumuuandcoveredinjewelry:goldnecklaceswithcrystalcharms,bighoopearrings,janglybracelets,andgemstoneringsonherfingersandtoes.“I’mMitzi,honey,Ilivenextdoor?Andsinceyou’renewtotheneighborhoodIwanttogiveabitoffriendlyadvice:Whenthoselandscaperscomearound?Youshouldn’tsitoutbythepool.Witheverythingondisplay.”Shegesturesatthefulllengthofmytorso.“Thisiswhatweusedtocallaprovocation.”
ShestepscloserandI’mhitbytheskunkysmellofburntrope.Eithersheneedsabathorshe’sveryhigh,orpossiblyboth.“Excuseme?”
“YougotanicefigureandIunderstandyouwanttoshowitoff.Andit’safreecountry,I’mLibertarian,Isaydowhatmakesyoufeelgood.ButwhentheseMexicanscomethrough,youneedtoshowalittlediscretion.Alittlecommonsense.Foryourpersonalsafety.Areyoufollowing?”Istarttoanswerbutshekeepstalking:“Thismightsoundracist,butit’strue.Thesemen—they’vealreadybrokenthelawonce,whentheycrossedtheborder.Soifacriminalseesaprettygirlallaloneinabackyard,what’sstoppinghim?”
“Areyouserious?”
Shegrabsmywristtounderscoreherremarks,andherhandistrembling.“Princess,Iamseriousasaheartattack.Youneedtocoveryourfanny.”
Aboveus,Teddycallsthroughthescreenofhisopenbedroomwindow,“Mallory,canwehavePopsicles?”
“Aftermyshower,”Itellhim.“Fiveminutes.”
MitziwavestoTeddyandheducksoutofsight.“He’sacutekid.Suchasweetface.Notabigfanoftheparents,though.Abituppityformytaste.Doyougetthatsense?”
“Well—”
“Thedaytheymovedin,Ibakedalasagna.Tobeneighborly,okay?Ibringittotheirfrontdooranddoyouknowwhatshesaystome?‘I’msorrybutwecan’tacceptyourgift.’Becauseofthechoppedmeat!”
“Maybe—”
“I’msorry,honey,butthatisnothowyouhandlethatsituation.Yousmile,yousaythankyou,youtakeitinside,andyouthrowitaway.Don’tflingitbackinmyface.That’srude.Andthefather’sevenworse!Hemustdriveyoucrazy.”
“Actually—”
“Ecch,you’restillachild.Youcan’treadpeopleyet.I’mawarmperson,veryempathetic,Ireadaurasforaliving.You’llseeclientsknockingonmydooralldaylongbutdon’tworry,there’snothingshadygoingon.Ilostallinterestaftermyhysterectomy.”Shewinksatme.“Buthowdoyouliketheguestcottage?Doyouevergetnervous?Sleepingoutthereallalone?”
“WhyshouldIbenervous?”
“Becauseofthehistory.”
“Whathistory?”
Andforthefirsttimeinourconversation,Mitzifindsherselfatalossforwords.Shereachesforalockofherhair,twistingitinherfingersuntilshe’sisolatedasinglestrand.Thensheyanksitfromitsrootandtossesitoverhershoulder.“Youshouldasktheparents.”
“Theyjustmovedhere.Theydon’tknowanything.Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“WhenIwasakid,wecalledyourcottagetheDevilHouse.We’ddareeachothertopeekthroughthewindows.MybrotherofferedmequartersifIwouldstandontheporchandcounttoahundred,butI’dalwayschickenout.”
“Why?”
“Awomanwasmurdered.AnnieBarrett.Shewasanartist,apainter,andsheusedyourhouseasherstudio.”
“Shewasmurderedinthecottage?”
“Well,theyneveractuallyfoundherbody.Thiswasalongtimeago,rightafterWorldWarTwo.”
Teddy’sfacereappearsinthesecond-floorwindow.“Hasitbeenfiveminutesyet?”
“Almost,”Itellhim.
WhenIlookbackatMitzi,she’salreadybackingacrosstheyard.“Don’tkeepthelittleangelwaiting.Goenjoyyouricecreams.”
“Wait,what’stherestofthestory?”
“Thereisnorestofthestory.AfterAnniedied—orwentmissing,whoknows—herfamilyturnedthecottageintoagardenshed.Wouldn’tletanyonestayoutthere.Andit’sbeenthatwayeversince,seventy-someyears.Untilthismonth.”
Carolinecomeshomewithaminivanfullofgroceries,soIhelpherunloadandunpackallthebags.Teddyisupstairsinhisbedroom,drawingpictures,soIusetheopportunitytoaskaboutMitzi’sstory.
“Itoldyoushewascuckoo,”Carolinesays.“ShethinksthemailmansteamsopenherVisabillssohecanlearnhercreditscores.She’sparanoid.”
“Shesaidawomanwasmurdered.”
“Eightyyearsago.Thisisaveryoldneighborhood,Mallory.Allthesehouseshavesomekindofhorrorstory.”Carolineopensherrefrigeratorandloadsthecrisperdrawerwithspinach,kale,andabundleofradisheswithsoilstillclingingtotheirroots.“Plusthepreviousownerslivedherefortyyears,soobviouslytheydidn’thaveanyproblems.”
“Right,that’strue.”Ireachintoacanvasgrocerybagandpulloutasix-packofcoconutwater.“Excepttheyusedthecottageasatoolshed,right?Noonewassleepingoutthere.”
Carolinelooksexasperated.Isenseshe’shadalongdayattheVAclinic,thatshedoesn’tappreciatebeingambushedwithquestionstheminuteshewalksthroughthedoor.“Mallory,thatwomanhasprobablydonemoredrugsthanallmypatientscombined.Idon’tknowhowshe’sstillalive,buthermindisdefinitelynotright.Sheisanervous,twitchy,paranoidmess.Andassomeonewhocaresaboutyoursobriety,I’mgoingtostronglysuggestyoulimitcontactwithher,okay?”
“No,Iknow,”Itellher,andIfeelbad,becausethisistheclosestCarolinehasevercometoyellingatme.Idon’tsayanythingelseafterthat,Ijustopenthepantryandunpackboxesofarboriorice,couscous,andwholegraincrackers.Iputawaybagsandbagsofrolledoats,rawalmonds,Turkishdates,andweirdshriveled-upmushrooms.Aftereverythingisunpacked,ItellCarolineI’mheadingout.AndshemustsensethatI’mstillupsetbecauseshecomesoverandrestsahandonmyshoulder
“Listen,wehaveaterrificguestbedroomonthesecondfloor.Ifyouwanttomoveoverhere,we’dbethrilledtohaveyou.Teddywouldgobananas.Whatdoyouthink?”
Andsomehow,sinceshealreadyhasonearmaroundme,itturnsintoakindofhug.“I’mfineoutthere,”Itellher.“Ilikehavingmyownspace.It’sgoodpracticefortherealworld.”
“Ifyouchangeyourmindjustsaytheword.Youarealwayswelcomeinthishouse.”
ThatnightIputonmygoodsneakersandgooutforarun.Iwaituntilafterdarkbuttheweatherisstillmuggyandgross.Itfeelsgoodtopushmyself,torunthroughthepain.RussellhasasayingthatIlove—hesayswedon’tknowhowmuchourbodiescanendureuntilwemakecrueldemandsofthem.Well,thatnightIdemandalotofmyself.Idowindsprintsupanddowntheneighborhoodsidewalks,runningthroughshadowsofstreetlampsandclustersoffireflies,pasttheever-presenthumofcentralairconditioners.Ifinish5.2milesinthirty-eightminutesandwalkhomefeelingdeliriouslyspent.
Itakeanothershower—thistime,inthesmall,crampedbathroomofthecottage—andthenfixmyselfasimplesupper:afrozenpizzaheatedinthetoasterovenandahalf-pintofBen&Jerry’sfordessert.IfeellikeIdeserveit.
BythetimeI’mfinishedwitheverything,it’safternineo’clock.Iturnoutallthelightsexceptforthelamponmynightstand.IgetintothebigwhitebedwithmyphoneandputonaHallmarkmoviecalledWinterLove.Ihaveahardtimefocusing,though.Ican’ttellifmaybeI’veseenitbefore,ormaybethestoryisjustidenticaltoadozenotherHallmarkmovies.Also,it’salittlestuffyinsidethecottage,soIstandupandopenthecurtains.
There’salargewindownexttothefrontdoor,andasmallerwindowovermybed,andatnightIkeepthemopentogenerateacross-breeze.Theceilingfanspinsinslow,lazycircles.Outsideinthewoods,thecricketsarechirping,andsometimesI’llhearsmallanimalspacingthroughtheforest,softfootstepspaddingoverdeadleaves.
Igetbackintobedandstartthemovieagain.Everyminuteorso,amothsmacksagainstmywindowscreens,drawntothelight.There’satap-tap-tappingonthewallbehindmybedbutIknowit’sjustabranch;therearetreesgrowingcloseonthreesidesofthecottageandtheyscrapeatthewallseverytimethewindpicksup.Iglanceatthedoorandmakesureit’slocked,anditis,butit’saveryflimsylock,nothingthatwouldstopadeterminedintruder
AndthenIhearthesound,asortofhigh-frequencyhumming,likeamosquitoflyingtooclosetomyear.Iwaveitoff,butafterafewsecondsit’sbackagain,agrayspeckflittingaroundmyperipheralvision,alwaysjustoutofreach.AndIthinkbacktothedoctorfromtheUniversityofPennsylvaniaandtheresearchexperimentthatdidn’tactuallyhappen.
Andit’sthefirstnightIfeellikesomeonemightbewatchingme.
5
Myweekendsareprettyquiet.CarolineandTedwilloftenplanafamilyactivity—they’lldrivetotheshoreforaBeachDay,orthey’lltakeTeddytoamuseuminthecity.AndtheyalwaysinvitemealongbutInevergo,becauseIdon’twanttointrudeontheirfamilytime.InsteadI’lljustputteraroundmycottage,tryingtokeepbusy,becauseidlehandsinvitetemptation,etc.OnSaturdaynight,whilemillionsofyoungpeopleacrossAmericaaredrinkingandflirtingandlaughingandmakinglove,I’mkneelinginfrontofmytoiletwithaspraybottleofCloroxbleach,scrubbingthegroutonmybathroomfloor.Sundaysaren’tmuchbetter.I’vesampledallthelocalchurches,butsofarnothing’sclicking.I’malwaystheyoungestpersonbytwentyyears,andIhatethewaytheotherparishionersstareatme,likeI’msomekindofzoologicaloddity.
SometimesI’mtemptedtogobackonsocialmedia,toreactivatemyaccountswithInstagramandFacebook,butallmyNAcounselorshavewarnedmetosteerclear.Theysaythesesitescarryaddictionrisksoftheirown,thattheywreakhavoconayoungperson’sself-esteem.SoItrytokeepbusywithsimple,real-worldpleasures:running,cooking,takingawalk.
ButI’malwayshappiestwhentheweekendisoverandIcanfinallygobacktowork.Mondaymorning,IarriveatthemainhouseandfindTeddydownunderthekitchentable,playingwithplasticfarmanimals.
“Heythere,TeddyBear!Howareyou?”
Heholdsupaplasticcowandmooooos.
“Nokidding,youturnedintoacow?Well,IguessI’mcow-sittingtoday!Howexciting!”
Carolinedartsthroughthekitchen,clutchinghercarkeysandcellphoneandseveralfoldersstuffedwithpapers.SheasksifIcanjoinherinthefoyerforaminute.Oncewe’reasafedistancefromTeddysheexplainsthathewethisbedandhissheetsareinthewashingmachine.“Wouldyoumindmovingthemintothedryerwhenthey’redone?Ialreadyputnewonesonhisbed.”
“Sure.Isheallright?”
“He’sfine.Justembarrassed.It’sbeenhappeningalotlately.Thestressofthemove.”Shegrabshersatchelfromthehallclosetandslingsitoverhershoulder.“Justdon’tmentionthatIsaidanything.Hedoesn’twantyoutoknow.”
“Iwon’tsayaword.”
“Thankyou,Mallory.You’realifesaver!”
Teddy’sfavoritemorningactivityisexploringthe“EnchantedForest”attheedgeofhisfamily’sproperty.Thetreesformadensecanopyoverourheads,soevenonthewarmestdaysit’scoolerinthewoods.Thetrailsareunmarkedandunlabeledsowe’veinventedourownnamesforthem.YellowBrickRoadistheflat,hard-packedroutethatstartsbehindmycottageandrunsparalleltoallthehousesonEdgewoodStreet.WefollowittoalargegraybouldercalledDragon’sEggandthenveeroffontoDragon’sPass,asmallertrailthattwiststhroughadensethicketofstickerbushes.Wehavetowalksinglefile,withourhandsoutstretched,tokeepfromgettingscratched.ThispathbringsusdownavalleytotheRoyalRiver(afetidandslow-movingcreek,barelywaistdeep)andMossyBridge,alongrottingtreetrunkspanningthebanks,coveredwithalgaeandweirdmushrooms.WetiptoeacrossthelogandfollowthetrailtotheGiantBeanstalk—thetallesttreeintheforest,withbranchesthattouchthesky.
OrsoTeddylikestosay.Hespinselaboratestoriesaswehikealong,narratingtheadventuresofPrinceTeddyandPrincessMallory,bravesiblingsseparatedfromtheRoyalFamilyandtryingtofindtheirwaybackhome.Sometimeswe’llwalkallmorningwithoutseeingasingleperson.Occasionallyadogwalkerortwo.Butrarelyanykids,andIwonderifthisiswhyTeddylikesitsomuch.
Idon’tmentionthistheorytoCaroline,however.
Aftertwohoursofstumblingaroundthewoods,we’veworkedupanappetiteforlunch,sowegobacktothehouseandImakesomegrilledcheeses.ThenTeddygoesupstairsforQuietTime,andIrememberthathisbedsheetsarestillinthedryer,soIheadupstairstothelaundryroom.
OnmywaypastTeddy’sroom,Ioverhearhimtalkingtohimself.Istopandpressmyeartohisdoor,butIcanonlymakeoutwordsandfragments.It’slikelisteningtoonesideofatelephoneconversationwheretheotherpersonisdoingmostofthetalking.Therearepausesbetweenallhisstatements—somelongerthanothers.
“Maybe?ButI—”
“..….….…..”
“Idon’tknow.”
“..….….…..”
“Clouds?Likebig?Puffy?”
“..….….….….….…..”
“I’msorry.Idon’tunder—”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……”
“Stars?Okay,stars!”
“..….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….……”
“Lotsofstars,Igotit.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……”
AndI’msocurious,I’mtemptedtoknock—butthenthehousephonestartsringing,soIleavehisdoorandhurrydownstairs.
TedandCarolinebothhavecellphonesbuttheyinsistonkeepingalandlineforTeddysohecandial911incaseofanemergency.Ianswer,andthecalleridentifiesherselfastheprincipalofSpringBrookElementary.“IsthisCarolineMaxwell?”
ItellherI’mthebabysitterandshestressesthatit’snothingurgent.Shesaysshe’scallingtopersonallywelcometheMaxwellstotheschoolsystem.“Iliketotalkwithalltheparentsbeforeopeningday.Theytendtohavealotofconcerns.”
ItakehernameandnumberandpromisetodeliverthemessagetoCaroline.Alittlewhilelater,Teddywandersintothekitchenwithanewdrawing.Heplacesitfacedownonthetableandclimbsupintoachair.“CanIhaveagreenpepper?”
“Ofcourse.”
GreenbellpeppersareTeddy’sfavoritesnacksoCarolinepurchasesthembythedozen.Igrabonefromtherefrigerator,rinseitundercoldwater,andcarveoutthestem.NextIsliceoffthetop,creatingasortofring,andslicetherestofthebellintobite-sizestrips.
We’resittingatthetableandhe’shappilymunchingonhispepperwhenIturnmyattentiontohislatestillustration.It’sapictureofamanwalkingbackwardthroughadenseandtangledforest.He’sdraggingawomanbytheankles,pullingherlifelessbodyacrosstheground.Inthebackground,betweenthetrees,there’sacrescentmoonandmanysmalltwinklingstars.
“Teddy?Whatisthis?”
Heshrugs.“Agame.”
“Whatkindofgame?”
Hebitesintoastripofpepperandanswerswhilechewing.“AnyaactsoutastoryandIdrawit.”
“LikePictionary?”
Teddysnortsandsprayslittleflecksofgreenpepperalloverthetable.“Pictionary?!?”Heflopsbackinhischair,laughinghysterically,andIgrabapapertoweltowipeupthemess.“Anyacan’tplayPictionary!”
Igentlycoaxhimtocalmdownandtakeasipofwater.
“Startoverfromthebeginning,”Itellhim,andItrytokeepmytonelight.Idon’twanttosoundlikeI’mfreakingout.“Explaintomehowthegameworks.”
“Itoldyou,Mallory.AnyaactsoutthestoryandIhavetodrawit.That’sit.That’sthewholegame.”
“Sowhoistheman?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“DidthemanhurtAnya?”
“HowshouldIknow?Butit’snotPictionary!Anyacan’tplayboardgames!”
Andthenheflopsbackinhischairagain,caughtupinanothergigglefit,thekindofblissfullycarefreelaughterthatonlychildrencanproduce.It’ssojoyousandgenuine,IsupposeitoutweighsanyconcernsImighthave.Clearlythere’snothingbotheringTeddy.HeseemsashappyasanykidI’veevermet.Sohe’screatedaweirdimaginaryfriendandtheyplayweirdimaginarygamestogether—sowhat?
He’sstillflailingaroundinhischairasIstandandcarrythedrawingacrossthekitchen.Carolinekeepsafilefolderinthebillsdrawerwhereshe’saskedmetoplaceTeddy’sartwork,soshecanscanallthepicturesintohercomputer.
ButTeddyseeswhatI’mdoing.
Hestopsgigglingandshakeshishead.
“Thatone’snotforMommyorDaddy.Anyasaysshewantsyoutohaveit.”
Ihaven’townedacomputersincehighschool.Forthepastfewyears,I’vebeengettingbywithjustaphone.Butthatnight,IwalkamiletoashoppingplazaandspendsomeofmypaycheckonanewAndroidtablet.I’mbackatthecottagebyeighto’clock.Ilockthedoorandchangeintomypajamasandthengetintobedwithmynewtoy.ItonlytakesafewminutestosetupthetabletandconnecttotheMaxwells’Wi-Finetwork.
Mysearchfor“AnnieBarrett”generatessixteenmillionresults:weddingregistries,architecturefirms,Etsyshops,yogatutorials,anddozensofLinkedInprofiles.Isearchagainfor“AnnieBarrett+SpringBrook”and“AnnieBarrett+Artist”and“AnnieBarrett+dead+murdered”butnoneoftheseyieldanythinghelpful.Theinternethasnorecordofherexistence.
Outside,justovermyhead,somethingsmacksagainstthewindowscreen.Iknowit’soneofthefatbrownmothsthatareallovertheforest.Theyhavethecolorandtextureoftreebark,sotheycaneasilycamouflagethemselves—butfrommysideofthewindowscreen,allIseearetheirslimysegmentedunderbellies,threepairsoflegsandtwotwitchyantennae.Irattlethescreenandshakethemloose,buttheyjustflyaroundforafewsecondsandcomeback.Iworrythey’llfindsomegapinthescreenandwrigglethrough,thatthey’llmigratetomybedsidelampandswarmit.
NexttothelampismydrawingofAnyabeingdraggedthroughtheforest.IwonderifIwaswrongtokeepit.MaybeIshouldhavepassedittoCarolineassoonasshewalkedthroughthedoor.Orbetteryet,Icouldhavecrumpleditintoaballandstuffeditintotherecyclingbin.IhatethewayTeddyhasdrawnherhair,theobscenelengthofherlongblacktresses,draggedbehindherbodylikeentrails.SomethingonmynightstandshrieksandIspringoutofbedbeforerealizingit’sjustmyphone—anincomingcallwithmyringtonesettohigh.
“Quinn!”Russellsays.“AmIcallingtoolate?”
ThisissuchatypicalRussellquestion.It’sonlyeightforty-five,butheadvocatesthatanyoneseriousaboutfitnessshouldbeinbedwiththelightsoutbyninethirty.
“It’sfine,”Itellhim.“What’sup?”
“I’mcallingaboutyourhamstring.Theotherday,yousaidyouweretight.”
“It’sbetternow.”
“Howfar’dyougotonight?”
“Fourmiles.Thirty-oneminutes.”
“Youtired?”
“No,I’mfine.”
“Youreadytopushalittleharder?”
Ican’tstopstaringatthedrawing,atthetangleofblackhairtrailingbehindthewoman’sbody.
Whatkindofkiddrawsthis?
“Quinn?”
“Yeah—sorry.”
“Everythingokay?”
IhearamosquitowhineandIslaptherightsideofmyface,hard.ThenIlookatmypalm,hopingtoseemangledblackash,butmyskinisclean.
“I’mfine.Alittletired.”
“Youjustsaidyouweren’ttired.”
Andhisvoiceshiftsgearsatinybit,likehe’ssuddenlyawarethere’ssomethinggoingon.
“How’sthefamilytreatingyou?”
“They’refantastic.”
“Andthekid?Tommy?Tony?Toby?”
“Teddy.He’ssweet.We’rehavingfun.”
Forjustamoment,IconsidertellingRussellaboutthesituationwithAnya,butIdon’tknowwheretobegin.IfIcomerightoutandtellhimthetruth,he’llprobablythinkI’musingagain.
“Areyouhavingglitches?”heasks.
“Whatkindofglitches?”
“Lapsesinmemory?Forgetfulness?”
“No,notthatIcanrecall.”
“I’mserious,Quinn.Itwouldbenormal,underthecircumstances.Thestressofanewjob,anewlivingsituation.”
“Mymemory’sfine.Ihaven’thadthoseproblemsinalongtime.”
“Good,good,good.”NowIhearhimtypingonhiscomputer,keyinginadjustmentstomyworkoutspreadsheet.“AndtheMaxwellshaveaswimmingpool,right?You’reallowedtouseit?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Doyouknowthelength?Ballpark?”
“Maybethirtyfeet?”
“I’memailingyousomeYouTubevideos.They’reswimmingexercises.Easylow-impactcross-training.Twoorthreetimesaweek,allright?”
“Sure.”
There’sstillsomethinginmyvoicehedoesn’tquitelike.“Andcallmeifyouneedanything,okay?I’mnotinCanada.I’mfortyminutesaway.”
“Don’tworry,coach.I’mfine.”
6
I’maprettylousyswimmer.Growingup,wehadapublicpoolinourneighborhood,butduringthesummeritwasalwaysazoo,hundredsofshriekingscreamingkidsstandingbody-to-bodyinthreefeetofgreasywater.Youcouldn’tdoanylaps;therewasbarelyroomtofloatonyourback.Mymotherwarnedmeandmysisternottoputourheadsunderwaterbecauseshewasafraidwewouldgetpinkeye.
SoI’mnotlookingforwardtoRussell’snewexercises.It’safterteno’clockthefollowingnightwhenIfinallyheadouttothepool.TheMaxwells’backyardisastrangeplaceafterdark.We’rejustastone’sthrowfromPhiladelphia,butatthistimeofnightitfeelslikewe’remilesdeepintotheruralcountryside.Theonlylightcomesfromthemoonandthestarsandtheglowinghalogenlampsatthebottomofthepool.Thewaterisaneerieneonblue,likeradioactiveplasma,castingstrangeshadowsontherearofthehouse.
It’sawarmeveninganditfeelsgoodtoplungeintothedeepend.ButwhenIsurfaceforairandopenmyeyes,Icouldsweartheforesthasmovedforward,likesomehowallthetreeshavecreptcloser.Eventhechorusofcricketsseemslouder.Iknowit’sjustanillusion,thatthenewanglehasflattenedmydepthperception,erasingthetwentyfeetofgrassbetweenthepoolfenceandthetreeline.Butitweirdsmeout,anyway.
Igrabtheedgeofthepoolandwarmupwithfiveminutesoflegkicks.Overatthebighouse,allthedownstairslightsareonandIcanseeintothekitchen,butthere’snotraceofTedorCaroline.They’reprobablysittingintheden,drinkingwineandreadingbooks,whichishowtheyspendmostevenings.
AfterI’mwarmedup,Ikickoffthewallandstartwithasloppyfreestylestroke.I’maimingfortenlaps,outandback,acrossthelengthofthepool.Butbythemiddleofthethird,IknowI’mnotgoingtofinish.Mydeltoidsandtricepsareburning;myentireupperbodyiswoefullyoutofshape.Evenmycalvesaretighteningup.Idigdeeptofinishthefourthlap,andhalfwaythroughmyfifthIhavetostop.Iclingtothesideofthepool,strugglingtocatchmybreath.
Andthen—fromtheforest—Ihearasoftcrack
It’sthesoundofapersonputtingalltheirweightonadrybranch,pressingdownharduntilthewoodsplits.IturntowardthetreesandsquintintotheshadowsandIcan’tseeanything.ButIhearsomething,orsomeone—softfootstepspaddingacrossdryleaves,walkinginthedirectionofmycottage.…
“How’sthewater?”
Iturnaroundandit’sTed,openingthegatetothepool,shirtlessanddressedinswimtrunkswithatowelslungoverhisshoulder.HeexercisesinthepoolseveralnightsaweekbutI’veneverseenhimoutthislate.Ipaddleovertotheladderandsay,“Iwasjustgettingout.”
“Noneed.There’splentyofroom.YoustartdownthereandI’llstarthere.”
Hethrowshistowelonachairandthenstepsofftheedgeofthepool—droppingintothewaterwithoutflinching.Andthenonhissignalwestartswimminginparallellinesfromoppositeendsofthepool.Intheoryweshouldonlypasseachotheronce,inthecenterofthelanes,butTediscrazy-fastandafteraminutehelapsme.Hisformisexcellent.Hekeepshisfacesubmergedfornearlytheentirelengthofthepool,soI’mnotevensurehowhe’sbreathing.Hemoveslikeashark,barelymakingasound,whileIthrashandflaillikeadrunkcruiseshippassengerwho’sfallenoverboard.Iekeoutanotherthreelapsbeforequitting.Tedkeepsgoing,anothersixlaps,andfinishesbesideme.
“You’rereallygood,”Itellhim.
“Iwasbetterinhighschool.Wehadaterrificcoach.”
“I’mjealous.I’mlearningonYouTube.”
“ThencanIoffersomeunsolicitedadvice?You’rebreathingtoomuch.Youwanttobreatheeveryotherstroke.Alwaysontheleftorright,whateverfeelsmorenatural.”
Heencouragesmetotryit,soIkickofftheedgeandcrossthepoolusinghissuggestions.Theresultsareinstantaneous.I’mbreathinghalfasmuchandmovingtwiceasfast.
“Better,right?”
“Muchbetter.Anyothertips?”
“No,Ijustgaveyoumybestadvice.Swimmingistheonlysportwherecoachesyellatyouforbreathing.Butifyoupractice,you’llgetbetter.”
“Thanks.”
Igrabthepoolladderandclimbout,readytocallitanight.MyswimsuitisridingupandIreachdowntotugitbackintoplace,butapparentlyI’mnotfastenough.
“Hey,goFlyers,”hesays.
He’sreferringtothesmalltattooatthebaseofmyhip.It’sthewild-eyedfaceofGritty,thefurryorangemascotofPhiladelphia’sNHLteam.I’vebeencarefultokeepitconcealedfromtheMaxwells,andI’mangryatmyselfforslippingup.
“It’samistake,”Itellhim.“AssoonasIsavethemoney,I’mgettingitlaseredoff.”
“Butyoulikehockey?”
Ishakemyhead.I’veneverplayed.I’veneverevenwatchedagame.ButtwoyearsagoIbecamefriendlywithanoldermanwhohadanabidingloveofthesportandreadyaccesstoprescriptionpharmaceuticals.Isaacwasthirty-eightyearsold,andhisfatherplayedfortheFlyersbackinthe1970s.He’dearnedalotofmoneyanddiedyoungandIsaacwasslowlysquanderinghisfortune.TherewereacoupleofuslivinginIsaac’scondoandcrashingonhisfloorandoccasionallysharinghisbedandbasicallyIgotthetattootoimpresshim,withthehopethathe’dthinkIwascoolandhe’dletmekeephangingaround.Buttheplanwasabust.Ihadtowaitfivedaystoremovethebandage,andinthattimeIsaacwasarrestedforpossession,andhislandlordchasedallofusbackintothestreets.
Ted’sstillwaitingformetoexplain.
“Itwasstupid,”Itellhim.“Iwasn’tthinkingclearly.”
“Well,you’renotalone.Carolinehasatattooshewantstogetridof.Shewentthroughanartsyphaseincollege.”
Thisisanicethingtosay,butitdoesn’tmakemefeelanybetter.I’msureCaroline’stattooisextremelytasteful.It’sprobablyarose,oracrescentmoon,orameaningfulChinesecharacter—notsomefreakishgoogly-eyedmonster.IaskTedwhereshe’shidingitbutI’minterruptedbyanotherloudcrack
Webothturntowardtheforest.
“Someone’soutthere,”Itellhim.“Iheardthemwalkingaroundearlier.”
“Probablyarabbit,”hesays.
There’sanothercrackandthenaquickpanickedthrashing,thesoundofasmallanimaldartingacrossaforest.
“Thatwasarabbit.Butearlier,beforeyoucameout,thenoisewaslouder.Itsoundedlikeaperson.”
“Maybeitwasteenagers.I’msurethesewoodsarepopularwithhighschoolkids.”
“It’sworseatnight.SometimesI’mlyinginmybedanditsoundslikethey’rerightoutsidemywindow.”
“Probablydoesn’thelpforMitzitofillyourheadwithstrangestories.”Hewinks.“Carolinetoldmeaboutyourencounter.”
“She’saninterestingperson.”
“I’dsteerclearofher,Mallory.Allthisbusinessaboutso-calledenergyreadings?Strangersparkinginherdriveway,knockingonherbackdoor?Payingincash?Itfeelsshadytome.Idon’ttrusther.”
IsensethatTedhasn’tspentmuchtimeinthecompanyofpsychics.Growingup,Ihadaneighbor,Mrs.Guber,whoreadtarotcardsinthebackofthelocalpizzeria.Shewaslegendaryforpredictingthatoneofthewaitresseswouldwin$100,000onascratch-offticket.Shealsoconsultedonmarriageproposals,adulterousboyfriends,andotheraffairsoftheheart.MyfriendsandIcalledherTheOracle,andwetrustedhermorethanthefrontpageoftheInquirer
ButIdon’texpectTedtounderstandanyofthis.Theguywon’tevenacknowledgetheexistenceofthetoothfairy.Afewnightsago,Teddyspatupaloosemolar,andTedjustreachedintohisbillfoldandpulledoutadollar—nomystery,nofanfare,nolate-nighttiptoeingintothebedroomtoavoiddetection.
“She’sharmless.”
“Ithinkshe’sdealing,”Tedsays.“Ican’tproveit,butI’mwatchingher.Youneedtobecarefularoundher,okay?”
Iraisemyrighthand.“Scout’shonor.”
“I’mserious,Mallory.”
“Iknow.AndIappreciateit.I’llbecareful.”
I’mopeningthegatetothepool,readytoleave,whenIrealizeCarolineiswalkingacrosstheyard,stilldressedinherworkclothes,carryinghernotebookandapencil.“Mallory,wait.Didyougetaphonecallyesterday?FromTeddy’sschool?”
Immediately,IrealizeI’vemessedup.Irememberthecall,andIrememberwritingtheprincipal’snumberonaslipofpaper.ButthenTeddywalkedintothekitchenwithhisweirddrawing,andImusthavebeendistracted.
“Yes—theprincipal,”Itellher.“Ihavethemessageinmycottage.It’sprobablystillinmyshorts.I’llgogetit—”
Carolineshakesherhead.“It’sfine.Shejustemailedme.ButIcouldhaveusedthemessageyesterday.”
“Iknow.I’msorry.”
“Ifwemissasingledeadline,Teddywilllosehisspot.Thekindergartenclasshasawaitlistwiththirtynamesonit.”
“Iknow,Iknow—”
Shecutsmeoff.“Stopsaying‘Iknow.’Ifyoureallyknew,youwouldhavegivenmethemessage.Nexttimebemorecareful.”
Sheturnsandwalksbacktothehouse,andI’mshocked.It’sthefirsttimeshe’sreallyyelledatme.Tedhurriesoutofthepoolandrestsahandonmyshoulder.“Listen,don’tworryaboutit.”
“I’msorry,Ted,Ifeelawful.”
“She’smadattheschool,notyou.They’redrowningusinpaperwork.Vaccines,allergies,behavioralprofiles—thisstupidkindergartenapplicationhasmorepagesthanmytaxreturn.”
“Itwasanhonestmistake,”Itellhim.“Iwrotedownthephonenumber,butIwasdistractedbysomethingTeddygaveme.”I’msodesperatetomakethingsright,Istartdescribingthedrawingtohim,butTedjusttalksoverme.Heseemsanxioustogetbacktothehouse.IcanseeCaroline’ssilhouetteintheslidingglassdoor,watchingus.
“She’llcooloff,don’tworry,”hesays.“Tomorrowshewon’tevenremember.”
Hisvoiceisrelaxedbuthewalksawayinahurry.Ashecrossestheyard,hisformflattensintoasilhouette—andwhenhereachesCaroline,heputshisarmsaroundher.Shereachesforthelightswitch,andafterthatIcan’tseeanythingelse.
AlittlebreezekicksupandIstarttoshiver.Iwrapmytowelaroundmywaistandwalkbacktomycottage.IlockthedoorandI’mchangingintomypajamaswhenIhearthefootfallsagain,lightstepstreadingonsoftgrass—onlythistime,they’rerightoutsidemywindow.IpullbackthecurtainsandtrytopeekoutsidebutallIseethroughthescreenaretheslimywrigglingmoths.
Adeer,Itellmyself.It’sjustadeer.
Iclosethecurtainsandturnoffthelightsandgetintobed,pullingtheblanketsuptomychin.Outside,thethingmovesrightbehindmybed—Icanhearitmovingontheothersideofthewall,inspectingthecottage,circlingtheperimeter,likeit’ssearchingforawayinside.Icurlmyfingersintoafistandbangonthewall,hopingagoodloudnoisewillspookitaway.
Instead,itducksunderthecottage,scratchingatthedirt,squeezingitselfbeneaththefloorboards.Idon’tknowhowanythingcanfitdownthere.Thebuildingcan’tbemorethaneighteeninchesofftheground.There’snowayit’sadeerbutitsoundsbig,likeit’sthesizeofadeer.Isitupinbedandstomponthefloortonoavail.
Thethingjustburrowsdeeperanddeeper,wrigglingitselfintothecenteroftheroom.Istandupandturnonthelights.ThenIclimbdownonallfoursandlisten,tryingtofollowthenoise.Ipullbacktheruganddiscoverasquareoutlinecutintothefloorboards—anaccesspanellargeenoughforapersontocrawlthrough.Therearenohingesorhandles,justtwooval-shapedslotsallowingsomeonetograbholdofthepanelandlift.
Iguessifitwereearlierintheevening—andifCarolinewasn’talreadymadatme—ImightcalltheMaxwellsandaskforhelp.ButI’mdeterminedtofixtheproblemonmyown.Igotothekitchenandfillaplasticpitcherwithwater.Thisthing,whateveritis,can’tbeasbigasitsounds.Iknownoisescanbedeceiving,especiallyinthedark,especiallylateatnight.Ikneelonthefloorandtrytoliftthepanel,butitwon’tbudge.Allthesummerhumidityhasexpandedthewood,lockingitintoplace.SoIapplyallmyforcetooneside,pullingwithbothhands,ignoringthepaininmyfingers,thesharpdrywoodcuttingintotenderskin.Finally,withaloudpopandacloudofgraydust,thepanelspringsoutofthefloor,likeacorkexplodingfromachampagnebottle.Igrabitandholditclosetomychest,usingthepanellikeashield.ThenIleanforwardandpeerdownintothehole.
It’stoodarktoseeanything.Theearthbelowisaridandlifeless,likeashleftafteracampfire.Thecottageissilent.Thecreature,whateveritis,hasvanished.There’snothingtoseedownthere,justmoundsofgraydustspeckledwithblackspots.IrealizeI’vebeenholdingmybreath,andIexhalewithrelief.Allthenoisefromyankingopenthehatchmusthavefrightenedthethingaway.
ButthentheashmovesandtheblackspotsblinkandIrealizeI’mstaringatthethingitself—rearinguponitslegstomeetme,baringuglypinkclawsandlongsharpteeth.Iscream,afull-bodiedshriekthatpiercesthenight.ThenIslamdownthepanelandthrowmyselfontopofit,usingallmybodyweighttobarricadethehatch.Ihammerthe
“It’sarat,”Itellthem,andIamsofreakingrelievedthey’rehere,thatI’mnotaloneanymore.“It’sthebiggestratI’veeverseen.”
TedtakestheplasticpitcherofwaterandcarriesitoutsidewhileCarolineputsahandonmyshoulder,calmingme,assuringmeeverythingisgoingtobeokay.Togetherweturnthepanelninetydegreessoitfitsbackintothehatch,andthenIholditsteadywhileshestompsthecornersbackintoplace.Evenaftershe’sfinished,I’mafraidtomovefromthespot,afraidthepanelwillflyoutofthefloor.Shestandsbesideme,holdingme,untilwehearasplashofwaterthroughtheopenwindow.
Amomentlater,Tedreturnswithanemptypitcher.“Possum,”hesays,grinning.“Notarat.HemovedprettyfastbutIgothim.”
“Whywasitunderhercottage?”
“There’saholeinthelattice.Onthewestwall.Lookslikeatinysectionrottedoff.”CarolinefrownsandstartstosaysomethingbutTediswayaheadofher.“Iknow,Iknow.I’llfixittomorrow.I’llgotoHomeDepot.”
“Firstthingtomorrow,Ted.ThisthingscaredMallorytodeath!Whatifshewasbitten?Whatifithadrabies?”
“I’mfine,”Itellher.
“She’sfine,”Tedsays,butCarolineisunconvinced.Shestaresdownatthehatchinthefloor.“Whatifitcomesback?”
Eventhoughit’snearlymidnight,CarolineinsiststhatTedgogethistoolkitfromthebighouse.Sheinsiststhathedrivenailsthroughthehatchintothefloorboardssothatnothingcaneverforceitswayintomycottage.Whilewewaitforhimtofinish,sheboilswateronmystoveandmakeschamomileteaforallthreeofus,andafterwardtheMaxwellsstayafewminuteslongerthannecessary,justtomakesureIfeelcalmandrelaxedandsafe.Thethreeofussitontheedgeofmybed,talkingandtellingstoriesandeventuallylaughing,andit’slikethescoldingaboutthephonecallneverhappened.
7
ThenextdayisahotandmuggyFourthofJulyandIforcemyselftogoforalongrun,eightmilesinseventy-oneminutes.Onthewalkhome,IpassahousethatTeddyandIhavestartedcallingtheFlowerCastle.It’sthreeblocksfromtheMaxwells,agiantwhitemansionwithaU-shapeddrivewayandayardexplodingwithcolorfulflowers:chrysanthemums,geraniums,daylilies,andmanyothers.Inoticesomeneworangeblossomsclimbingatrellisinthefrontyard,soItakeafewstepsupthedrivewaytogetacloserlook.Theflowersaresooddandpeculiar—theylookliketinytrafficcones—andIsnapafewpictureswithmycellphone.Butthenthefrontdooropens,andamanstepsoutside
“Hey!”
Iwalkbacktothesidewalkandwavealameapologybutit’stoolate.Theguyisalreadyoutthedoor,comingafterme.
“Mallory!”hecalls.“Howareyoudoing?”
AndonlythendoIrealizeI’veseenhimbefore.It’swelloverninetydegreesbutAdrianlooksperfectlycomfortableinhislightgraysuit,likeallthoseguysintheOcean’s11movies.Underthejackethewearsacrispwhiteshirtandaroyalbluetie.Withouthiscapon,Iseehe’sgotamopofthickdarkhair.
“I’msorry,”Itellhim.“Ididn’trecognizeyou.”
Heglancesdownathisoutfit,asifhe’sforgottenhe’swearingit.“Oh,right!Wehaveathingtonight.Atthegolfclub.Mydad—he’sgettinganaward.”
“Youlivehere?”
“Myparentsdo.I’mhomeforthesummer.”
Thefrontdooropensandoutwalkhisparents—hismothertallandelegantinaroyalbluedress,hisfatherinaclassicblacktuxedowithsilvercufflinks.“IsthatElJefe?”
“He’stheLawnKing.WedohalfthelawnsinSouthJersey.Inthesummershehasacrewofeightyguys,butIsweartoyou,Mallory,I’mtheonlyoneheyellsat.”
HisparentsapproachablackBMWthat’sparkedinthedrivewaybutAdrianwavesthemovertojoinus,andIreallywishhehadn’t.YouknowallthoserunnersinTampaxadswhofinishtheirworkoutswithglowingcomplexionsandrunway-readyhair?Aftereightmilesinninety-degreeweather,Idon’tlookanythinglikethem.Myshirtissoakedwithsweat,myhairisastringy,greasymess,andtherearedeadgnatsspeckledallovermyforehead.
“Mallory,thisismymother,Sofia,andmyfather,Ignacio.”Idrymypalmonmyshortsbeforeshakingtheirhands.“MallorybabysitsfortheMaxwells.ThenewfamilyonEdgewood.TheyhavealittleboynamedTeddy.”
Sofialooksatmesuspiciously.She’ssowelldressedandperfectlycoiffed,Ican’timagineshe’sbrokenasweatinthirtyyears.ButIgnaciogreetsmewithafriendlysmile.“Youmustbeaverydedicatedathlete,runninginallthishumidity!”
“Mallory’sadistancerunneratPennState,”Adrianexplains.“She’sonthecross-countryteam.”
AndIcringeattheliebecauseI’vealreadyforgottenaboutit.IfAdrianandIwerealone,I’dcomecleanandfessup—butIcan’tsayanythingnow,notwithbothhisparentsstaringatme.
“I’msureyou’refasterthanmyson,”Ignaciosays.“Ittakeshimalldaytomowtwobackyards!”ThenhelaughsuproariouslyathisownjokewhileAdrianshiftshisfeet,embarrassed.
“That’slandscapinghumor.Myfatherthinkshe’sastand-upcomic.”
Ignaciogrins.“It’sfunnybecauseit’strue!”
SofiastudiesmyappearanceandI’mconvincedsheseesrightthroughme.“Whatyearareyouin?”
“Senior.Almostfinished.”
“Me,too!”Adriansays.“IgotoRutgers,inNewBrunswick,forengineering.What’syourmajor?”
AndIhavenoideahowtoanswerthisquestion.Allmycollegeplanningfocusedexclusivelyoncoaches,scouts,andTitleIXfunding.IneverreachedthepointofconsideringwhatImightactuallystudy.Business?Law?Biology?Noneoftheseanswersseemcredible—butnowI’mtakingtoolongtorespondandthey’reallstaringatmeandIneedtosaysomething,anything—
“Teaching,”Itellthem.
Sofialooksskeptical.“Youmeaneducation?”
Shepronouncesthewordslowly—ed-u-ca-tion—likeshesuspectsI’mhearingitforthefirsttime.
“Right.Forlittlekids.”
“Elementaryeducation?”
“Exactly.”
Adrianisdelighted.“Mymomteachesfourthgrade!Shewasaneducationmajor,too!”
“Nokidding!”Andit’sagoodthingI’mflushfrommyrun,becauseI’msuremyfaceisburning.
“It’sthemostnobleprofession,”Ignaciosays.“You’vemadeawonderfulchoice,Mallory.”
AtthispointI’mdesperatetochangethesubject,tosaysomething—anything—that’snotalie.“Yourflowersarebeautiful,”Itellthem.“Irunpastyourhouseeverydaytolookatthem.”
“Thenhere’sthemillion-dollarquestion,”Ignaciosays.“Whichisyourfavorite?”
Adrianexplainsthisisagamethathisparentsplaywithvisitors.“Theideaisthatyourfavoriteflowersayssomethingaboutyourpersonality.Likeahoroscope.”
“They’reallsobeautiful,”Itellthem.
Sofiarefusestoletmeoffthehook.“Youhavetopickone.Whateveryoulikebest.”
SoIpointtotheorangeflowersthatjustcameup,theonesthataregrowingonthetrellis.“Idon’tknowthename,buttheyremindmeoflittleorangetrafficcones.”
“Trumpetvines,”Adriansays.
Ignacioseemsdelighted.“Nooneeverpicksthetrumpetvine!She’sabeautifulflower,veryversatileandlow-maintenance.Yougiveheralittlesunandwater—nottoomuchattention—andshetakescareofherself.Veryindependent.”
“Butalsokindofaweed,”Sofiaadds.“Alittlehardtocontrol.”
“That’scalledvitality!”Ignaciosays.“It’sgood!”
Adrianshootsanexasperatedlookinmydirection—seewhatIhavetoputupwith?—andhismotherremindsthemthatthey’reverylate,thattheyneedtogetgoing.Soweallsayhastygoodbyesandnice-to-meet-yousandIresumewalkinghome.
Afewsecondslater,theblackBMWdrivespastandIgnaciotootsthehornwhileSofiastaresstraightahead.AdrianwavestomethroughtherearwindowandIcatchaglimpseofthelittleboyheusedtobe—travelingwithhisparentsinthebackseatoftheircar,ridinghisbikeontheseshadysidewalks,acceptingthesebeautifultree-linedstreetsasakindofbirthright.Ihavethesensehischildhoodwasperfect,thathehaslivedlifewithabsolutelyzeroregrets.
SomehowI’vemadeittotwenty-onewithouteverhavinghadarealboyfriend.Imean,I’vebeenwithmen—whenyouareareasonablynormal-lookingwomanaddictedtodrugs,thereisalwaysonesurefirewaytoacquiremoredrugs—butI’veneverhadanythingresemblingatraditionalrelationship.
ButintheHallmarkChannelmovieversionofmylife—inanalternaterealitywhereI’mraisedinSpringBrookbykind,affluent,well-educatedparentslikeTedandCaroline—myidealboyfriendwouldbesomeonealotlikeAdrian.He’scute,he’sfunny,heworkshard.AndasIwalkalongIstartdoingthearithmeticinmyhead,tryingtocalculatewhentwofullweekswillelapseandhe’llbebacktoworkontheMaxwells’yard.
SpringBrookisfullofsmallchildrenbutI’vehadnoluckintroducingTeddytoanyone.Attheendofourblockisabigplaygroundfullofswings,spinners,andshrieking,screamingfive-year-olds—butTeddywantsnothingtodowiththem.
OneMondaymorningwefindourselvessittingonaparkbench,watchingagroupoflittleboys“drive”theirHotWheelsdownaslidingboard.IurgeTeddytogooverandplaywiththemandhesays,“Idon’thaveaHotWheels.”
“Askthemtoshare.”
“Idon’twanttoshare.”
Heslouchesnexttomeonthebench,pissedoff.
“Teddy,please.”
“I’llplaywithyou.Notthem.”
“Youneedfriendsyourownage.Youstartschoolintwomonths.”
Butthere’snoconvincinghim.WespendtherestofthemorningplayingLEGOsinthehouse,andthenheeatslunchandgoesupstairsforQuietTime.IknowIshouldusemydowntimetocleanthekitchenbutit’shardtomustertheenergy.Ididn’tsleepwellthenightbefore—theFourthofJulyfireworkswentprettylate—andarguingwithTeddyhasleftmefeelingdefeated.
IdecidetoliedownonthesofaforafewminutesandthenextthingIknowTeddyisstandingoverme,shakingmeawake.
“Canwegoswimmingnow?”
Isitupandnoticethelightintheroomhaschanged.It’salmostthreeo’clock.“Yes,ofcourse,getyourswimsuit.”
Hehandsmeadrawingandrunsoutoftheroom.It’sthesamedarkandtangledforestfromthepreviouspicture—onlythistime,themanisshovelingdirtintoalargehole,andAnya’sbodyliescrumpledatthebottom.
Teddyreturnstotheden,wearinghisswimsuit.“Ready?”
“Hangon,Teddy.Whatisthis?”
“Whatiswhat?”
“Whoisthisperson?Inthehole?”
“Anya.”
“Andwho’stheman?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Isheburyingher?”
“Inaforest.”
“Why?”
“BecausehestoleAnya’slittlegirl,”Teddysays.“AlsocanIhavesomewatermelonbeforeswimming?”
“Sure,Teddy,butwhy—”
It’stoolate.He’salreadyskippingintothekitchenandpullingopentherefrigerator.Ifollowandfindhimstandingontiptoes,reachingforthetopshelfandaslabofriperedmelon.IhelphimcarryitovertothebutcherblockandthenIuseachef’sknifetocarveoffaslice.Teddydoesn’twaitforaplate;hejustgrabsitandstartseating.
“T-Bear,listentome,whatelsedidAnyasaytoyou?Aboutthedrawing?”
Hismouthisfullofmelonandredjuicedribblesdownhischin.“Themandugaholesonoonewouldfindher,”hesayswithashrug.“ButIguessshegotout.”
8
Thatnightthewholefamilygoesoutfordinner.Carolineinvitesmetojoinin,butItellherIneedtorun,andthenIputteraroundthecottageuntilIhearhercarbackingoutofthedriveway.
ThenIwalkacrossthelawntothehousenextdoor.
Mitzihasoneofthesmallesthousesontheblock,aredbrickranchwithametalroofandrollershadesdrawntightovereverywindow.HerplacewouldlookrightathomeinmyoldneighborhoodofSouthPhilly,buthereinwell-to-doSpringBrookit’sabitofaneyesore.Therustyrainguttersaresagging,weedshavesproutedinthesidewalkcracks,andthemottledyardcouldusesomehelpfromLawnKing.Carolinehascommentedmorethanoncethatshecan’twaitforMitzitomoveaway,soadeveloperwillbulldozethehouseandstartover
There’sasmallhandwrittennotetapedtothefrontdoor:WELCOMECLIENTS.PLEASEUSEBACKENTRANCE.IhavetoknockthreetimesbeforeMitzifinallyanswers.Shekeepsthechainlatchedandpeersoutthroughtheone-inchgap.“Yes?”
“It’sMallory.Fromnextdoor?”
Sheunlatchesthechainandopensthedoor.“Jesus,Mary,andJoseph,youscaredtheheckoutofme!”She’swearingapurplekimonoandclutchingacanisterofpepperspray.“Whatareyouthinking,bangingonthedoorsolate?”
It’sjustafewminutespastsevenandthelittlegirlsdownthestreetarestilloutonthesidewalkplayinghopscotch.IpresentasmallplateofcookiescoveredinSaranWrap.“TeddyandImadegingersnaps.”
Hereyesgowide.“I’llputoncoffee.”
Shegrabsmywristandpullsmeintoadarkenedlivingroom,andIblinkmyeyestoadjusttothegloom.Thehouseisdirty.Theairhasamusty,skunkysmellthat’spartcannabisandparthighschoollockerroom.Thesofaandarmchairsareshroudedinclearplasticslipcovers,butIcanseealayerofgrimeonthesurfaces,asiftheyhaven’tbeenwipeddowninmonths.
MitzileadsmeintothekitchenandIfindthebackofherhousealittlemorepleasant.Hershadesareopenandthewindowsoverlooktheforest.Spiderplantshangfromtheceilinginbasketswithlongleafytendrilsspillingoverthesides.Thecabinetsandappliancesarestraightoutofthe1980sandeverythingfeelsfamiliar,cozy,likemyneighbors’kitchensinSouthPhilly.SpreadacrosstheFormicakitchentablearesheetsofnewspaperandseveraloiledpiecesofblackmetal,includingaspringandabarrelandatrigger.Irealizethatifapersonassembledthesepiecesintherightorder,theresultwouldbeahandgun.
“Youcaughtmecleaningit,”Mitziexplains,andwithasweepofherarmshepusheseverythingtoonesideofthetable,jumblingalltheparts.“Nowhowdoyoutakeyourcoffee?”
“Doyouhavedecaf?”
“Yuck,no,never.That’sjustchemicalsinacup.Tonightwe’redrinkinggoodold-fashionedFolgers.”
Idon’twanttotellherI’minrecoverysoIjustsayI’mverysensitivetocaffeine.Mitzipromisesonelittlecupwon’thurtmeandIfigureshe’sprobablyright.
“I’lltakesomemilk,ifyouhaveit.”
“We’llusehalf-and-half.Ithasafullerflavor.”
AnoldKit-CatKlockhangsonthewall,grinningmischievously,itstailswishingbackandforth.MitziplugsanancientMr.Coffeemachineintothewallandfillsitsreservoirwithwater.“How’severythingnextdoor?Youlikethejob?”
“It’sgood.”
“Thoseparentsmustdriveyoucrazy.”
“They’refine.”
“Idon’tknowwhythatwomanworks,ifwe’rebeinghonest.I’msurethehusbandmakesplenty.AndyouknowtheVAhospitaldoesn’tpaysquat.Sowhynotstayhome?Whoisshetryingtoimpress?”
“Maybe—”
“Somewomendon’twanttobemothers,inmyopinion.Theywantchildren,theywantcutepicturestoputonFacebook.Butdotheywanttheactualexperienceofmothering?”
“Well—”
“I’lltellyouonething:Theboyisadorable.Icouldgobblehimup.Iwouldbabysithimfornothing,ifthey’daskedmenicely,iftheyjustshowedmealittlecommoncourtesy.Butthat’stheproblemwithMillenniums!Theydon’thaveanyvalues!”
Shekeepstalkingwhilewewaitforthecoffee,sharingherfrustrationsaboutWholeFoodsMarket(overpriced),#metoovictims(whinyandentitled),anddaylightsavingtime(nevermentionedanywhereintheConstitution).Istarttowonderifcomingherewasamistake.Ineedtotalktosomeone,andI’mnotsureifMitziismuchofalistener.I’m
“CanyoutellmemoreaboutAnnieBarrett?”
Thisstopshershort.
“Whyareyouasking?”
“I’mjustcurious.”
“No,Princess,that’saveryspecificquestion.Andforgivemeforsayingthisbutyoudon’tlooksohot.”
ImakeMitzipromisenottosayanything—especiallytotheMaxwells—thenIplaceTeddy’slatestartworkonthetable.
“Teddy’sdrawingsomeunusualpictures.Hesayshe’sgettingtheseideasfromhisimaginaryfriend.HernameisAnya,andshevisitshiminhisbedroom,whennooneelseisaround.”
Mitziexaminesthedrawingsandashadowfallsoverherface.“SowhyareyouaskingaboutAnnieBarrett?”
“Well,it’sjustthatthenamesaresosimilar.AnyaandAnnie.Iknowit’snormalforchildrentohaveimaginaryfriends.Lotsofkidsdo.ButTeddysaysAnyatoldhimtodrawthesepictures.Amandraggingawomanthroughaforest.Amanburyingawoman’sbody.AndthenAnyatoldTeddytogivethesepicturestome.”
Asilencesettlesoverthekitchen—thelongestsilenceI’veyetexperiencedinMitzi’spresence.AllIcanhearisMr.Coffeegurglingandthesteadyswish-swish-swishoftheKit-Cat’stail.Mitzistudiestheillustrationscarefully—almostlikeshe’stryingtoseethroughtheillustrations,pastthepencilmarksandintothefibersofthepaper.I’mnotsureshefullyunderstandswhatI’mdrivingat,soIspellitoutforher:
“Iknowthissoundscrazy,butIguessI’mwonderingifAnya’sspiritissomehowboundtotheproperty.Ifshe’stryingtocommunicateusingTeddy.”
Mitzistandsup,goesovertothecoffeepot,andfillstwomugs.Withtremblinghands,shecarriesthemugsbacktothetable.Ipourinsomecreamandtakeasipanditisthestrongest,mostbittercoffeeI’veevertasted.ButIdrinkit,anyway.Idon’twanttoinsulther.I’mdesperateforsomeonetolistentomytheoryandtellmeI’mnotcrazy.
“I’vedonesomereadingaboutthis,”Mitzifinallysays.“Historically,childrenhavealwaysbeenmorereceptivetothespiritcommunity.Achild’sminddoesn’thaveallthebarriersweadultsputup.”
“So—it’spossible?”
“Depends.Haveyoumentionedanythingtohisparents?”
“They’reatheists.Theythink—”
“Oh,Iknow,theythinkthey’resmarterthaneveryoneelse.”
“IwanttodomoreresearchbeforeIsitdownwiththem.Trytoconnectthedots.MaybesomethinginthesepicturesoverlapswithAnnieBarrett’sstory.”Ileanacrossthetable,talkingfaster.AlreadyIcanfeelthecaffeinewakingupmycentralnervoussystem.Mythoughtsaresharper,mypulseisquickening.I’mnolongerbotheredbythebittertasteandItakeanothersip.“AccordingtoTeddy,themaninthesedrawingsstoleAnya’slittlegirl.DoyouknowifAnniehadanychildren?”
“That’sareallyinterestingquestion,”Mitzisays.“ButtheanswerwillbeclearerifIstartatthebeginning.”Shesettlesbackinherchair,gettingcomfortable,andpopsacookieintohermouth.“Justremember,AnnieBarrettdiedbeforeIwasborn.SothesearestoriesIheardgrowingup,butIcan’tguaranteethey’reactuallytrue.”
“That’sfine.”Itakeanothersipofcoffee.“Tellmeeverything.”
“TheoriginalownerofyourhousewasamannamedGeorgeBarrett.HewasanengineerforDuPont,thechemicalcompany,upinGibbstown.Hehadawifeandthreedaughters,andhiscousinAnniecametoliveherein1946,rightafterWorldWarII.Shemovedintoyourguestcottageandsheuseditasakindofstudio-slash-guest-house.Shewasaboutyourageandverypretty,longblackhairandjustknockoutgorgeous.AlltheGIsarecominghomefromEuropeandtheygonutsforher,theyforgetallabouttheirhighschoolsweethearts.TheystartcomingaroundGeorge’shousedayandnight,askingifhiscousinisfreetotalk.
“ButAnnie’sshy,she’squiet,shekeepstoherself.Shedoesn’tdanceorgotothemovies,sheturnsdownalltheirinvitations.Andshedoesn’tevengotochurch,whichwasabigno-nobackthen.Shejuststaysinhercottageandpaints.OrshewalksaroundHayden’sGlen,lookingforsubjectstosketch.Andsograduallythewholetownkindofturnsonher.Wordgetsaroundthatshe’sanunwedmother,thatsheputherchildupforadoptionandmovedtoSpringBrookindisgrace.Thentherumorsgetevenworse.Peoplesayshe’sawitch,andshe’sluringallthehusbandsintothewoodstohavesexwiththem.”Mitzilaughsattheabsurdityoftheidea.“Becausethat’sjusthowwomentalk,youknow?I’msureallthemomsonthisblocksaythesamethingsaboutme!”
Shetakesanothersipofcoffeeandcontinues:“Anyway,soonedayGeorgeBarrettwalksovertothecottage,knocksonthedoor,noanswer.Hegoesinsideandthere’sbloodeverywhere.Alloverthebed,alloverthewalls.‘Uptotherafters,’hetoldmyfather.Butthere’snobody.NosignofAnnieanywhere.Georgecallsthepoliceandthewholetownsearchestheforest,combingallthetrails,draggingnetsthroughthecreek,searchdogs,thewholenineyards.Andyouknowwhattheyfound?Nothing.Shevanished.Endofstory.”
“Hasanyonelivedinthecottagesincethe’40s?”
Mitzishakesherheadno.“MyparentssaidGeorgenearlyknockeditdown.Toerasethememoryofthetragedy.Insteadheturneditintoatoolshed.AndlikeItoldyou,whenIwasgrowingupinthe’50sand’60s,weallcalledittheDevilHouse.Wewereallafraidofit.Butitwasjustatalltale,alocallegendinourownbackyard.Ineversawanythingthattrulyfrightenedme.”
“Whataboutthenextowners?AfterGeorgedied?”
“Well,afterGeorgepassed,hiswifesoldthehousetoButchandBobbieHercik.Theyweremyneighborsfortyyears.TheybuiltthepoolthatyouandTeddygoswimmingin.Wewererealclose,terrificfriends.”
“Didtheyhavechildren?”
“Threegirls,twoboys,andzeroproblems.AndIwasclosewithBobbie.Ifherkidsweredrawingdeadpeople,she’dhavetoldme.”Mitzitakesanothersipofhercoffee.“Ofcoursetheyhadthegoodsensetoleavetheguestcottagealone.MaybewhentheMaxwellsfixeditup,theydisturbedsomething.Unlockedsomekindofhostileenergy.”
IimaginemyselfapproachingTedandCarolineandwarningthatthey’dreleasedamalevolentspirit.I’mprettysuretheywouldstartsearchingCraigslistforanewbabysitter.AndthenwhatwouldIdo,wherewouldIgo?Myheartbeatsurges,likearevvingenginestuckinneutral,andIrestahandonmychest
Ineedtorelax.
Ineedtocalmdown.
Ineedtostopdrinkingcoffee.
“WouldyoumindifIusedyourbathroom?”
Mitzipointsmebacktowardthelivingroom.“Firstdooronyourleft.Thelight’sonastring,you’llseeit.”
Thebathroomissmallandcramped,withanold-fashionedclawfoottubthat’scocoonedinvinylshowercurtains.TheinstantIturnonthelight,asilverfishskittersacrossthetiledflooranddisappearsthroughacrackinthegrout.Ileanoverthesink,turnonthefaucet,andsplashmyfacewithcoldwater.MyheartpalpitationsleveloffandIreachforaguesttowel,onlytofindthey’reallcoveredwithafinelayerofdust,liketheyhaven’tbeentouchedinyears.There’sapinkterryclothrobehangingonthebackofthedoorandIuseitssleevetoblotmyfacedry
ThenIopenMitzi’smedicinecabinetandtakeaquicklookaround.BackinhighschoolIusedtosnoopinbathroomsallthetime,becauseyou’dbeamazedattheprescriptionpharmaceuticalsthatpeopleleftunsupervised;Icouldskimpillsandsometimesentirebottleswithoutanyonegettingsuspicious.AndIguesswithmyheartracingandmylegsshakingIfeellikeI’mbackinhighschoolagain.Mitzi’smedicinechestisstockedlikeafreakingWalgreens,fourcrowdedshelvesofQ-tipsandcottonballs,medicatedpadsandpetroleumjelly,tweezers,antacids,andhalf-flattenedtubesofMonistatandhydrocortisone.Plusadozenorangeprescriptionbottles,everythingfromLipitorandSynthroidtoamoxicillinanderythromycin.Andway,way,wayintheback,hiddenbehindalltheothers,ismyoldfriendoxycodone.IhadahunchI’dfindsome.Thesedays,almosteveryonehasOxyintheirhouse,ahalf-finishedbottleofpillsleftoverfromaminorsurgicalprocedure.Andfewpeopleevernoticewhenthesepillsgomissing.…
Itwistoffthecapandpeerinsidethebottle:empty.ThenMitzitapsonthedoorandInearlydropeverythinginthesink.“Makesureyouholdthehandlewhenyouflush,okay?I’vegotaproblemwithmyflapper.”
“Sure,”Itellher.“Noproblem.”
AndsuddenlyI’mfuriouswithmyselfforsnooping,forbacksliding.IfeellikeMitzi’scaughtmered-handed.Iblamethecoffee—Inevershouldhavehadthecoffee.Iputbackthebottleandturnonthetapandtakelongslurpsofcoldwater,hopingtodilutethetoxinsinmysystem.I’mashamedofmyself,nineteenmonthssoberandsnoopingaroundanoldlady’smedicinecabinet.Whatthehellishappeningtome?Iflushthetoiletandholdtheleveruntilallthewatergoesdown.
WhenIreturntothekitchen,Mitziiswaitingatthetablewithawoodenboardthat’scoveredwithlettersandnumbers.Irealizeit’ssomekindofOuijaboard—butit’snothingliketheflimsycardboardsetsIrememberfromchildhoodsleepovers.Thisoneisathickslabofmapleengravedwitharcanesymbols.Itlookslesslikeatoyandmorelikeabutcher’sblock.
“Here’swhatI’mthinking,”Mitzisays.“Ifthisspiritwantstotellyousomething,let’scutoutthemiddleman.BypassTeddyandcontactherdirectly.”
“Likeaséance?”
“Iprefertheterm‘gathering.’Butnothere.We’llgetbetterresultsinyourcottage.Howabouttomorrow?”
“IhavetowatchTeddy.”
“Right,Iknow,weneedTeddyinvolved.Thisspirithasattachedherselftohim.Wehaveamuchbetterchanceofcommunicatingifhejoinsus.”
“Noway,Mitzi.Ican’t.”
“Whynot?”
“Hisparentswouldkillme.”
“I’lltalktothem.”
“No,no,no,”Itellher,andpaniccreepsintomyvoice.“Youpromisedyouwouldn’tsayanythingtothem.Please,Mitzi,Icannotlosethisjob.”
“Whyareyousoworried?”
ItellherabouttheHouseRulesfrommyjobinterview—howI’vebeenhiredtoteachscience,notreligionorsuperstition.“Ican’tbringTeddytoaséance.Ifhesneezes,Ican’tevensay‘GodBlessYou.’”
Mitzitapsthedrawingswithherfinger.“Thesepicturesaren’tnormal,sweetie.Somethingweirdishappeninginthathouse.”
Itakebackthedrawings,stuffthemintomybag,andthankherforthecoffee.Mypulseisrevvingagain—moreheartpalpitations.IthankMitzifortheadviceandopenthebackdoortoleave.“Justdon’tsayanythingtothem,okay?I’mtrustingyoutokeepthissecret.”
Shecoversherwoodenboardwithasheathmadeofblackvelvet.“Myofferstandsifyouchangeyourmind.AndIprettymuchguaranteeyouwill.”
I’mbackatmycottagebyeighto’clockandstillawakeatfourinthemorning.Sleepingisimpossible.Thecoffeewasahugemistake.Itryalltheusualtricks—deepbreaths,aglassofwarmmilk,alonghotshower—butnothinghelps.Themosquitoesarerelentless,andtheonlywaytoquietthemistopullthesheetsupovermyhead,exposingmybarefeet.I’mjustsodisappointedinmyself.Ican’tbelieveIopenedhergoddamnmedicinecabinet.ItossandturnandobsessovermytwominutesinMitzi’sbathroom,tryingtopinpointtheexactmomentmybrainswitchedtoautopilot.IthoughtIcouldmanagemyaddiction,butapparentlyI’mstillAnything-for-a-BumpMallory,stillraidingmedicinecabinetsforwaystogethigh.
Iwaketomyalarmatseveno’clock,feelinggroggyandashamedofmyself—anddeterminednottobackslideagain.
Nomorecoffee,ever.
Nomoreobsessingoverpictures.
AndnomoretalkofAnnieBarrett.
Thankfully,whenIgettothebighouse,there’sabrand-newcrisistodistractme.Teddy’sfavoritecharcoalpencilshavegonemissingandhecan’tfindthemanywhere.Wewalktotheartstoretobuyanewpackandassoonaswe’rehome,hehurriesupstairsforQuietTime.I’mstillexhaustedfrommysleeplessnightsoImoveintothedenandcollapseonthesofa.Ionlymeantoclosemyeyesforafewminutes,butonceagainTeddyhastoshakemeawake.
“You’renappingagain!”
Ileaptomyfeet.“Sorry,TeddyBear.”
“Arewegoingswimming?”
“Definitely.Putyoursuiton.”
Ifeelamilliontimesbetter.Thenapwasjustenoughsleeptorechargemybatteries,tobringmebacktobaselinenormal.TeddyrunstogethisswimsuitandIseehe’sleftanewdrawingfacedownonthecoffeetable.AndIknowIoughttoleaveitthere.Lethismotherorfatherdealwithit.ButIcan’thelpmyself.Curiositygetsthebetterof
Look,Iknowtherearemanydifferentkindsofparents—liberalparentsandconservativeparents,atheistparentsandreligiousparents,helicopterparentsandworkaholicparentsandtotallytoxicparents.AndIknowallthesedifferentparentshavewildlydifferentideasaboutthebestwaytoraisechildren.ButwhenIstudythispictureandseeAnyawithhereyessqueezedshutandtwohandswrappedtightaroundherneck—well,Ithinkallparentswouldagreethisisprettyfucked-up?
9
CarolineishomefromworkatfivethirtyandIresistthetemptationtoambushherassoonasshewalksthroughthedoor.She’sbusy,she’sdistracted,sheneedstogreethersonandstartmakingdinner.Sowhensheasksaboutourday,Ijustsmileandtellhereverythingisfine.
IgooutforarunbutI’mstilltiredfromthenightbeforeandafterthirtyminutesIgiveup.IwalkpasttheFlowerCastle,butthere’snosignofAdrianorhisfamily.Igohomeandshower;ImicrowaveafrozenburritoandtrytolosemyselfinaHallmarkmovie.ButI’mtoodistractedtoconcentrate.Mymindkeepsgoingbacktothelastdrawing,tothepictureofthehandssqueezedtightaroundAnya’sthroat.
Iwaituntilnineo’clock,untilI’mcertainTeddywillbeasleepinhisbedroom.ThenIgatherthethreemostrecentdrawingsandstepoutside.IhearvoiceswhisperinginthewindandIrecognizetwofiguressittingoutbythepool.TedandCarolinearedressedinwhiterobesandsharingabottleofwine.Theylooklikethehappycouplesyousee
“Justaquickdip,”he’ssaying.“Torelaxyou.”
“I’malreadyrelaxed.”
“Thenshouldwegoupstairs?”
“WhataboutTeddy?”
“WhataboutTeddy?He’sasleep.”
IsteplightlyoverthesoftspringygrassandI’mhalfwayacrosstheyardwhenmyheelcomesdownonasprinklerhead.MyankletwistsandIfallonmytailbone,slammingmyelbowintotheground,andIcan’thelpit:Icryoutinpain.
CarolineandTedcomerunningacrosstheyard.“Mallory?Areyouallright?”I’vegotmyhandcuppedovermyelbow—thepainissosuddenandsearing,I’mcertainI’mbleeding.ButwhenIliftmyfingerstolook,Iseetheskinisbruisedbutnotbroken.
“I’mokay.Ijusttripped.”
“Let’sgetyouintothelight,”Tedsays.“Canyoustandup?”
“Ijustneedaminute.”
Teddoesn’twait.Heslideshisarmundermyknees,thenstandsandcarriesmelikeachild.Hewalksmebacktothepooldeckandgentlylowersmeintoapatiochair.
“I’mfine,”Itellthem.“Really.”
Carolineinspectsmyelbowanyway.“Whatwereyoudoingintheyard?Didyouneedsomething?”
“Itcanwait.”
Throughitall,I’vemanagedtokeepmygriponthethreedrawings,andCarolineseesthem.“DidTeddydothese?”
AtthispointIdecideIhavenothinglefttolose.“Heaskedmenottoshowyou.ButIthinkyououghttolookatthem.”
Carolinestudiesthepicturesandherfacefalls.Thensheshovesthepapersintoherhusband’shands.
“Thisisyourfault,”shesays.
Tedseesthefirstpictureandlaughs.“Oh,dear.Isthispersonbeingstrangled?”
“Yes,Ted,she’sbeingmurderedandherbodyisbeingdraggedthroughaforestandIwonderwhereoursweetgentlelittleboygotalltheseterribleideas?”
Tedraisesbothhandsinashowofsurrender.“BrothersGrimm,”heexplains.“Ireadhimadifferentstoryeverynight.”
“Thesearen’ttheDisneyversions,”Carolinetellsme.“Theoriginalstoriesaremuchmoreviolent.YouknowthatsceneinCinderella,wherethewickedstepsistertriesontheglassslipper?Intheoriginal,sheslicesoffhertoestomakeitfit.Theslipperfillswithblood.It’shorrifying!”
“He’saboy,Caroline.Boyslovethisstuff!”
“Idon’tcare.It’snothealthy.TomorrowI’mgoingtothelibraryandgettingsomeDisneystorybooks.Nostrangling,nomurders,justgoodcleanG-ratedfun.”
Tedtipsthebottleofwineintohisglassandgiveshimselfanextra-largepour.“Nowthat’smyideaofhorror,”hesays.“ButwhatdoIknow?I’mjusttheboy’sfather.”
“AndI’mthelicensedpsychiatrist.”
Theylookatmelikethey’rewaitingformetochooseaside,todeclarewhichparentisright.
“Idon’tthinkthisisafairytale,”Itellthem.“Teddysayshe’sgettingtheseideasfromAnya.HesaysAnyaistellinghimwhattodraw.”
“Ofcoursehedoes,”Carolinesays.“Teddyknowswewon’tapproveofthesepictures.Heknowsit’swrongtodrawwomenbeingstrangledandkilledandburied.ButifAnyasaysit’sokay,thenhe’sallowedtoproceed.Hecanachieveakindofcognitivedissonance.”
Ted’snoddingalongwithhiswife,likethisallmakesperfectsense,butIhavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout.Cognitivedissonance?
“Teddysayshe’sdrawingAnya’sstory.HesaysthemaninthepicturesstoleAnya’slittlegirl.”
“That’sclassicBrothersGrimm,”Tedexplains.“Halftheirstorieshavechildrengonemissing.HanselandGretel,thePiedPiper,GodfatherDeath—”
“GodfatherDeath?”Carolineshakesherhead.“Please,Ted.Thesestories.They’retoomuch.Youneedtostop.”
Tedtakesanotherlookatthedrawingsandatlasthesurrenders.“Allright,fine.Fromnowon,I’llstickwithDr.Seuss.OrRichardScarry.ButIwillnotreadthoseawfulBerenstainBears,that’swhereIdrawtheline.”HeputsanarmaroundCarolineandsqueezeshershoulder.“Youwin,hon,okay?”
Andhe’sactinglikethematterisresolved,likenowweshouldallgoinsideandcallitanight.ButIworrythatifIdon’taskmyquestionnow,Imightneverhaveanotheropportunity.“Ijustthoughtofoneotherpossibility,”Itellthem.“WhatifAnyaisAnnieBarrett?”
Carolineisconfused.“Who?”
“Thewomanmurderedinmycottage.Inthe1940s.WhatifTeddygoesintohisbedroomforQuietTimeandcommunicateswithherspirit?”
TedlaughslikeI’vemadeajoke—andCarolineshootsanotherangrylookinhisdirection.“What,seriously?Youmeanlikeaghost?”
There’snoturningbacknow.Ineedtooutlinemycase:“Thenamesaresosimilar.AnnieandAnya.Plus,yousaidthatTeddyneverlikedtodrawinBarcelona.ButassoonasyoumovedbacktotheUnitedStates—assoonasyoumovedontothisproperty—whereAnnieBarrettdisappeared—hestarteddrawinglikecrazy.Thosewereyourexactwords:‘likecrazy.’”
“Ijustmeanthehasanactiveimagination.”
“Buthe’stalkingtosomeone.Inhisbedroom.Istandathisdoorlistening,andhe’shavinglongconversations.”
Carolinenarrowshereyes.“Doyouheartheghost,too?DoyouhearthesadbalefulvoiceofAnnieBarrettgivingartdirectiontomyson?”IadmitthatIdon’t,andCarolinereactslikethisprovessomething.“Becausehe’stalkingtohimself,Mallory.It’sasignofintelligence.Giftedchildrendoitallthetime.”
“Butwhatabouthisotherproblems?”
“Problems?Teddyhasproblems?”
“Hewetshisbed.Hewearsthesamestripedshirteveryday.Herefusestoplaywithotherchildren.Andnowhe’sdrawingpicturesofawomangettingmurdered.Youaddallthatup,Caroline,Idon’tknow.I’mworried.Ithinkheshouldseeadoctor.”
“Iamadoctor,”Carolinesays,andall-too-lateIrealizeI’vestruckanerve.
Tedreachesforherwineglassandfillsit.
“Honey,here.”
Shewavesitoff.“Iamfullycapableofassessingmychild’smentalhealth.”
“Iknow—”
“Really?Youdon’tsoundlikeyoudo.”
“I’mjustworried.Teddyissuchasweet,gentle,innocentboy.Butthesedrawingsfeellikethey’recomingfromadifferentplace.Theyfeeldirtytome.Impure.Mitzithinks—”
“Mitzi?YoushowedthesepicturestoMitzi?”
“Shethinksmaybeyoudisturbedsomething.Whenyourenovatedtheguestcottage.”
“YoutalkedtoMitzibeforeyoucametous?”
“BecauseIknewyouwouldreactthisway!”
“Ifyoumeanrationally,thenyes,you’reright,Idon’tbelieveawordthatwomansays.Neithershouldyou.She’saburnout,Mallory.She’sadrugged-up,fucked-upmess!”
Andthewordsjusthangbetweenus.I’veneverheardCarolineswearbefore.I’veneverheardherusethiskindoflanguagetodescribeanaddict.
“Look,”Tedsays.“Weappreciateyourconcern,Mallory.”Herestsahandonhiswife’sknee.“Don’twe,hon?We’rebigbelieversinhonestcommunication.”
“ButwewillnotblameTeddy’sbedwettingonghosts,”Carolinesays.“Youunderstandthat,right?Thestatewouldtakeawaymylicense.Bedwettingisnormal.Beingshyisnormal.Havingapretendplaymateisnormal.Andthesepictures—”
“Mommy?”
Weallturnandthere’sTeddy—standingonthefarsideofthepoolfence,dressedinhisfiretruckpajamasandholdinghisGodzilladoll.Ihavenoideahowlonghe’sbeenwaitingorhowmuchhe’sheard.
“Ican’tfallasleep.”
“Gobacktoyourroomandtryagain,”Carolinesays.
“It’slate,bigguy,”Tedsays.
Theirsonlooksdownathisbarefeet.Thelightfromtheswimmingpoolcastshisbodyinamurkyblueglow.Helooksanxious,likemaybehedoesn’twanttogobackalone.
“Goon,”Carolinetellshim.“I’llcheckonyouintwentyminutes.Butyouneedtotryonyourown.”
“Oh,andbuddy?”Tedcalls.“NomorepicturesofAnya,okay?You’rescaringMallory.”
Teddyturnstome—wounded,eyeswidewithbetrayal.
“No,no,no,”Itellhim.“It’sfine—”
Tedholdsupthethreedrawings.“Noonewantstoseethese,buddy.They’retooscary.Fromnowon,drawnicethings,okay?Horses,sunflowers.”
Teddyturnsandrunsacrossthelawn.
Carolinescowlsatherhusband.“Thatwasnottherightthingtosay.”
Tedshrugsandtakesanothersipofwine.“Thekidneedstohearitsoonerorlater.Hestartsschoolintwomonths.Youthinkhisteacherswon’thavethesameconcerns?”
Shestandsup.“I’mgoinginside.”
Istandup,too.“Caroline,I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantooffendyou.Iwasjustworried.”
Shedoesn’tstoporturnaround,justmarchesacrossthelawntowardthehouse.“It’sfine,Mallory.Goodnight.”
Butit’sobviouslynotfine.Thisisevenworsethanthelasttimesheyelledatme.She’ssoangry,shewon’tevenlookatme.AndIfeelsillyforcryingbutIcan’thelpmyself.
WhydidIhavetomentionMitzi?
Whycouldn’tIkeepmymouthshut?
Tedpullsmecloseandletsmerestmyheadonhischest.“Listen,it’sokay,youwerejustbeinghonest.Butwhenitcomestoraisingchildren,themotherisalwaysright.Evenwhenshe’swrong.DoyouknowwhatImean?”
“I’mjustworried—”
“LeavetheworryingtoCaroline.She’llworryenoughforthebothofyou.She’sveryprotectiveofTeddy,haven’tyounoticed?Westruggledalongtimetohavehim.Itwasalotofwork.Andtheordeal—Iguessitleftherfeelinginsecure.Now,ontopofallthat,she’sgonebacktowork—awholenewreasontofeelguilty!Soanytimesomethinggoeswrong,mywifetakesitverypersonally.”
Ihadn’tconsideredthisbefore,buteverythingTedissayingringstrue.Inthemornings,whenCarolineisrunningoutthedoorforwork,shealwaysseemsguiltyaboutleavingthehouse.MaybeevenjealousthatI’mthepersonwhogetstostayhomeandbakecupcakeswithTeddy.I’vebeensobusyadmiringCaroline,I’veneverstoppedtothinkthatshemightbeenviousofme.
I’vemanagedtocatchmybreathandstopcrying.Tedseemsanxioustogetbacktohishouse,tocheckonhiswife,andIhaveonemorerequestbeforehegoes.Ihandhimthethreedrawings,absolvingmyselfofallresponsibility.“Wouldyoumindtakingthese?SoIdon’thavetolookatthemanymore?”
“Ofcourse.”Tedfoldsthepagesinhalfandthenripsthemintopieces.“You’llneverhavetoseethesepicturesagain.”
10
Isleeppoorlyandwakeupfeelingawful.CarolineMaxwellhastreatedmebetterthanIdeserve—she’swelcomedmeintoherhome,she’strustedmewithherchild,she’sgivenmeeverythingIneedtostartanewlife—andIcan’tstandknowingshe’sangrywithme.IlieinbedimaginingahundreddifferentwaystosayI’msorry.AndeventuallyIcan’tputitoffanylonger,Ihavetogetoutofbedandfaceher.
WhenIarriveatthemainhouse,Teddy’sdownunderthekitchentable,dressedinhispajamas,playingwithhisLincolnLogs.Caroline’satthekitchensink,washingthebreakfastdishes,andIoffertotakeover.“Also,IwantedtosayI’msorry.”
Carolineturnsoffthewater.“No,Mallory,I’msorry.Ihadtoomuchwine,andIwaswrongtoblowupatyou.It’sbeenbotheringmeallmorning.”
Sheopensherarmsandwehugandwebothapologizeagain,atthesametime.Andthenwe’relaughingtogetherandIknoweverythingisgoingtobefine.
“You’restillwelcomehereinthemainhouse,”sheremindsme.“YoucouldtakethebedroomnexttoTeddy’s.I’donlyneedadaytogetitready.”
ButIdon’twanttocauseheranymoreinconvenience.“Thecottageisperfect,”Itellher.“Iloveitoutthere.”
“Okay,butifyouchangeyourmind—”
Itakethedishtowelfromherhandandnodattheclockonthemicrowaveoven.It’s7:27andIknowCarolinelikestobeontheroadby7:35,beforethetrafficturnshorrendous.“Letmefinish,”Itellher.“Gohaveagreatday.”
SoCarolineleavesforworkandIgetdowntobusiness.Thereisn’treallymuchtoclean—justafewcupsandcerealbowls,andthewineglassesfromthenightbefore.AfterIloadeverythingintothedishwasher,Igetdownonmyhandsandkneesandcrawlunderthekitchentable.Teddyhasbuiltatwo-storyfarmhouseoutofLincolnLogs,andnowhe’ssurroundingitwithtinyplasticanimals.
“Whatareweplaying?”
“They’reafamily.Theylivetogether.”
“CanIbethepig?”
Heshrugs.“Ifyouwant.”
Ipushthepigaroundtheotheranimalsandmakeitbeep-beep-beeplikeacar.NormallyTeddylovesthisjoke.HelovesitwhenImaketheanimalshonklikeatruckorchoo-choolikeatrain.Butthismorninghejustturnshisbacktome.And,ofcourse,Iknowwhat’swrong.
“Teddy,listen.Iwanttotalkaboutlastnight.Ithinkyourdaddymisunderstoodme.BecauseIloveallyourdrawings.EventheoneswithAnya.Ialwayslookforwardtoseeingyourpictures.”
Teddypushesaplasticcatupatableleg,likeit’sclimbingatree.Itrytomoveinfrontofhim,trytoforceeyecontact,butheswivelsaway.“Iwantyoutokeepsharingyourdrawings,okay?”
“Mommysaysno.”
“ButI’msayingyoucan.It’sfine.”
“Shesaysyou’renotwell,andscarypicturescouldmakeyousickagain.”
IsitupsofastIbangmyheadonthebottomofthetable.ThepainiswhitehotandforthenextfewmomentsIcan’tmove.Ijustsqueezemyeyesshutandholdmyhandtomyscalp.
“Mallory?”
IopenmyeyesandIrealizeIfinallyhavehisattention.Helooksfrightened.“I’mfine,”Itellhim.“AndIneedyoutolistenverycarefully.There’snothingyoucandothatwouldmakemesick.Youdon’thavetoworry.Iamonehundredpercentfine.”
Teddygallopsahorseupmylegandparksitonmyknee.“Isyourheadokay?”
“Myheadisfine,”Itellhim,eventhoughit’sthrobbinglikecrazyandIcanfeelabumpswellingonmyscalp.“Ijustneedtoputsomethingonit.”
Ispendthenextfewminutessittingatthekitchentable,pressingasandwichbagoficetothetopofmyskull.Downatmyfeet,Teddyispretend-playingwithallhisdifferentfarmanimals.Eachcreaturehasitsowndistinctvoiceandpersonality.There’sstubbornMr.GoatandbossyMamaHen,abraveblackstallionandasillybabyduckling,morethanadozencharactersinall.
“Idon’twanttodomychores,”thehorsesays.
“Butrulesarerules,”MamaHentellshim.“Weallhavetofollowtherules!”
“It’snotfair,”Mr.Goatcomplains.
Onandonitgoes—theconversationpivotsfromchorestolunchtoasecrettreasureburiedintheforestbehindthebarn.I’mimpressedbyTeddy’sabilitytorememberallthedifferentcharactersandtheirvoices.But,ofcourse,thisiswhatTedandCarolinehavebeensayingallalong:Theirsonhasanextremelyactiveimagination.Endofstory.
Laterthatafternoon,whenTeddygoestohisbedroomforQuietTime,Iwaitafewminutesthenfollowhimupstairs.BythetimeIpressmyeartothedoorofhisbedroom,he’salreadyinthemiddleofaconversation.
“…orwecouldbuildafort.”
“..….….….…”
“Orplaytag.”
“..….….….…”
“No,Ican’t.I’mnotallowed.”
“..….….….….….….….…”
“TheysaidIcan’t.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….…”
“I’msorrybut—”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……”
“Idon’tunderstand.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….…..”
Thenhelaughs,likeshe’sproposedsomethingridiculous.“Iguesswecouldtry?”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….…”
“Howdowe—okay.Right.”
“..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….……..….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….….…”
“Oh,it’scold!”
There’snomorespeakingafterthat—butasIstraintohearwhat’shappening,Idetectakindofwhisper—thesoundofapencilscratchingonpaper.
Drawing?
Ishedrawingagain?
Igodownstairs,sitatthekitchentable,andwait.
NormallyQuietTimeisn’tmuchmorethananhour,butTeddystaysinhisroomtwiceaslong.Andwhenhefinallycomesdowntothekitchen,he’sempty-handed.
Ismileathim.“Thereheis!”
Heclimbsupontoakitchenchair.“Hello.”
“Nodrawingtoday?”
“CanIhavecheeseandcrackers?”
“Sure.”
Igoovertotherefrigeratorandfixhimaplate.“Sowhatwereyoudoingupstairs?”
“CanIhavesomemilk?”
Ipourhimasmallcupofmilk,thencarryeverythingovertothekitchentable.Ashereachesforacracker,Inoticehispalmsandfingersarecoveredwithblacksmudges.“Maybeyoushouldwashyourhands,”Isuggest.“Itlookslikeyou’vegotpencilonthem.”
Hehurriesovertothesinkandwasheshishandswithoutcomment.Thenhereturnstothetableandstartseatingthecrackers.“DoyouwanttoplayLEGOs?”
Andforthenextfewdays,thingsareprettynormal.TeddyandIfillthehourswithLEGOsandpuppetshows,Play-DohandShrinkyDinks,coloringbooksandTinkertoysandendlesstripstothegrocerystore.Heisabrave,adventurouseaterandhelovestosamplestrangeandexoticfoods.Somedayswe’llwalktoWegmansandbuyjicamaorakumquat,justtoseewhattheytastelike.
He’soneofthemostcuriouschildrenI’veevermet,andhelovestochallengemewithimponderablequestions:Whyarethereclouds?Whoinventedclothes?Howdosnailswork?IamconstantlyreachingformyphoneandcheckingWikipedia.Oneafternoonintheswimmingpool,TeddypointsatmychestandaskswhyIhavebumpspokingthroughmyswimsuit.Idon’tmakeabigdealoutofit.Ijustsaythey’repartofmybodyandthecoldwatermakesthemhard.
“Youhavethem,too,”Itellhim.
Helaughs.“No,Idon’t!”
“Sureyoudo!Everybodydoes.”
Later,whenI’mrinsingoffintheoutdoorshowerstall,Ihearhimknockingonthewoodendoor.
“Hey,Mallory?”
“Yeah?”
“Canyouseeyourgirlparts?”
“Howdoyoumean?”
“Ifyoulookdown?Canyouseethem?”
“It’shardtoexplain,Teddy.Notreally?”
There’salongpause.
“Thenhowdoyouknowthey’rethere?”
AndI’mgladthere’sadoorbetweenus,sohecan’tseemelaughing.“Ijustknow,Teddy.They’redefinitelythere.”
ThatnightImentiontheincidenttoCarolineandinsteadoflaughingsheseemsalarmed.ThenextdayshecomeshomewithagiantstackofpicturebookswithtitleslikeIt’sPerfectlyNormal!andWhereDidIComeFrom?They’rewaymoreexplicitthanthebooksIhadgrowingup.Therearedetaileddefinitionsofanalsex,cunnilingus,andgenderqueerexpression.Withfull-colordrawingsandeverything.Imentionthatitallseemsabitmuchforafive-year-old,butCarolinedisagrees.Shesaysit’sessentialhumanbiologyandshewantsTeddytolearnthefactsatanearlyagesohewon’tgetmisinformationfromhisfriends.
“Iunderstand,butcunnilingus?He’sfive.”
Carolineglancesatthecrosshangingfrommyneck,likesomehowthat’stheproblem.“Nexttimehehasquestions,justsendhimtome.Iwanttoanswerthem.”
ItrytoassureherthatIamtotallycapableofansweringTeddy’squestionsbutshemakesitcleartheconversationisover.She’salreadyopeningkitchencabinetsandnoisilygatheringpotsandpanstomakedinner.It’sthefirstnightinawhileshedoesn’tinvitemetostayandeatwiththem.
Two-hourQuietTimesaregettingmoreandmorecommon,andIdon’tknowhowTeddypassesthetime.SometimesI’lllurkoutsidehisdoorandI’llhearhimspeakingtohimself,weirdnonsensicalfragmentsofconversation.OrI’llhearhimsharpeningpencilsorrippingpagesfromhisspiralboundsketchpad.Clearly,he’sstilldrawing—andsomehowhidinghisworkfrommeandhisparents.
SoFridayafternoonIdecidetodoalittlesnooping.IwaituntilTeddygoestomakenumbertwo,becauseIknowI’llhaveagoodtenorfifteenminutes(hesitsonthetoiletforalongtime,flippingthroughastackofpicturebooks).AssoonasIhearhimlockthedoor,Ihurryupstairstothesecondfloor.
Teddyhasabrightsunnybedroomthatalwayssmellsalittlebitlikeurine.Therearetwobigwindowsoverlookingthebackyard,andCarolinehasinstructedmetoleavethemopenalldaylong,evenifthecentralairisrunning,becauseIthinkthishelpstodiminishthesmell.Thewallsarepaintedacheerfulsky-blueandadornedwithpostersofdinosaurs,sharks,andTheLEGOMoviecharacters.Teddy’sfurnitureconsistsofabed,ashortbookshelf,andadresser,soyoumightthinkasearchwouldn’ttakeverylong.ButIknowathingortwoabouthidingstuff.DuringmyfirstyearonOxyContinIwasstilllivingathomeandIhadlittlestashesofpillsandparaphernaliaallovermybedroom,crammedintoplacesmymotherwouldneverthinktolook.
Irollbackhisrug,Ipulldownallhispicturebooks,Iremovethedresserdrawersandpeerinsidetheemptycavities.Ishakethecurtainsandstandonhisbedtocarefullyinspectthevalances.Isiftthroughamountainofstuffedanimalspiledhighinacornerofhisbedroom—apinkdolphin,atatteredgraydonkey,adozenTyBeanieBabies.ItugthesheetsoffhismattressandreachbeneaththemattresspadandfinallyIlifttheentiremattressofftheframe,turningitontoitsside,soIhaveaclearviewofthefloor.
“Mallory?”Teddyisshoutingthroughthedoorofthefirst-floorpowderroom.“Canyoubringmetoiletpaper?”
“Justasecond!”
I’mnotfinishedyet.Istillhavetogothroughthecloset.IsiftthroughalltheadorableoutfitsthatwecanneverconvinceTeddytowear—beautifulcollaredshirts,miniaturekhakisanddesignerbluejeans,tinyleatherbeltsforhistwenty-two-inchwaist.Ispythreeboardgamesonthetopshelfofthecloset—Clue,Mousetrap,andSorry!—andI’mcertainI’vefoundmytreasuretrove.ButthenIopentheboxesandshakeouttheboardsandallIfindaregamepiecesandplayingcards.Nodrawings.
“Mallory?Didyouhearme?”
Iputthegamesbackinthecloset,closethedoor,andmakesuretheroomismoreorlessasIfoundit.
ThenIgrabarolloftoiletpaperfromthelaundryroomandhurrydownstairstothefirst-floorbathroom.“Hereyougo,”Itellhim.Heopensthedooracrack,justwideenoughformetopassthepaper.
“Wherewereyou?”heasks.
“Justtidyingup.”
“Allright.”
HepushesthedoorclosedandIhearthebuttonlockclick.
IspendtheweekendconvincedI’mbeingparanoid.IhavenoproofthatTeddyisstilldrawingpictures.Thescratchingsoundsfromhisbedroomcouldbeanything.Theblackgritonhisfingerscouldbedirtfromourgardeningprojects,orthenormalgrimysmudgesofafive-year-oldboy.Everythingelseseemstobegoingfine,sowhatamIworriedabout?
Mondaymorning,IawakentothesoundofsanitationtrucksmakingtheirslowrumblingcrawldownEdgewoodStreet.Theycometwiceaweek—onMondaysforrecycling,andagainonThursdaysforregulartrash.AndinaninstantIremembertheonespotIdidn’tthinktocheck:thewastebasketinTed’ssecond-flooroffice.Teddyhastowalkrightpastittogetdownstairs.Itwouldbeaneasyplaceforhimtodiscardhisdrawings,onhiswayoutofhisbedroom.
Ispringoutofbed,gratefulthatIsleepinrunningshortsandaT-shirt,andIsprintoutmydoorandacrossthelawn.ThegrassisstillwetwithmorningdewandInearlywipeoutroundingthesideofthehouse.ThetruckisthreedoorsawaysoIonlyhaveaminutetospare.Iruntotheendofthedriveway,whereTeddragsthebluecontainerseverySundaynight—oneformetalsandglass,theotherforpapersandcardboard.Iplungemyhandsdeepinside,pastshredsofjunkmailandutilitybills,take-outmenusandcreditcardstatementsandaheapingstackofmailordercatalogs:TitleNine,LandsEnd,L.L.Bean,VermontCountryStore,theyarriveeverydaybythedozen.
Therecyclingtruckpullsalongsideme,andaskinnyguywearingworkglovessmilesatme.There’satattooofadragoncoiledaroundhisbicep.
“Losesomething?”
“No,no,”Itellhim.“Youcantakeit.”
Butthenhereachesforthebinandallitscontentsshift,revealingagiantballofcrumpedpaper,withthesameconfettiedgesfamiliartoTeddy’sdrawings.
“Wait!”
Heholdsoutthebin,allowingmetograbtheball,andIcarryitbackupthedrivewaytomycottage.
Onceinside,Iboilsomewater,makemyselfamugoftea,andthensitdowntostudythepapers.It’sabitlikepeelinganonion.ThereareninepagestotalandIusemypalmtosmoothoutallthewrinkles.Thefirstfewdrawingsdon’tlooklikeanything.They’rejustscribbles.ButasIturnthepagesthere’smorecontrolandmoredetail.Thecompositionimproves.There’slightandshadow.It’slikeasketchbookforsomestrangeworkinprogress;someofthepagesareclutteredwithdrawings,manyofthemhalf-finished.
11
AndI’msorrybutthere’snowayTeddydrewthesepictures.Mostadultscan’tdrawthiswell—letaloneafive-year-oldboywhosleepswithstuffedanimalsandcan’tcountpasttwenty-nine.
Buthowelsedidtheyendupintherecyclingbin?
DidTeddrawthem?Caroline?
AretheMaxwellsstudyingillustrationintheirfreetime?
Allmyquestionsleadtomorequestions,andprettysoonI’mwishingInevergotoutofbed.IwishI’djustletthesanitationtruckscarryawaytheclues,soIwouldn’thavetowonderwhattheymeant.
Mondaypassesinadaze—LEGOs,macandcheese,QuietTime,swimmingpool—butbynightfallI’mreadytodosomeseriousresearch.ItakeashowerandwashmyhairandputononeofCaroline’snicestoutfits,abreezybluemididresswithprettywhiteflowers.ThenIwalkamileintotowntoTheRaconteur,SpringBrook’slocalindependentbookstore.
I’msurprisedtofinditcrowdedonaMondaynight—aneighborhoodauthorhasjustfinishedareadingandthemoodisfestive,likeaparty.Peoplearedrinkingwineinplasticcupsandeatingsheetcakeofftinypaperplates.Ihavetopushthroughthecrowdtoreachtheparentingsection,butI’mgratefulforallthedistractions;Idon’twantanystoreclerksofferingtohelpmefindsomething.IftheyheardwhatIwasresearching,they’dthinkIwascrazy.
Igathersomebooksandheadoutthebackdoortoalargebrickpatio—acrowdedcaféthat’sringedwithtwinklingChristmaslights.There’sasmallbarsellingsnacksanddrinks,andaveryearnestteenagegirlsittingonabarstoolwithanacousticguitar,dressedinoverallsandsinging“TearsinHeaven.”Ican’thearthissongwithoutthinkingaboutmysister’smemorialservice;itwaspartofaplaylistthatloopedoverandover.Thesongisconstantlysneakinguponmeinsupermarketsandrestaurants,andevenafterathousandtimesitstillhasthepowertomakemecry.Butthisgirl’sversionisbrighterthantheEricClaptonoriginal.There’ssomethingaboutheryoungagethatmakesthesongseemalmosthopeful.
Iwalkovertothecoffeebarandorderamugofteaandapastry,onlytofindthatIdon’thaveenoughhandstocarryeverything.Plus,allthetablesarefullandnooneseemsanxioustoleave,soIcan’tbelievemygoodluckwhenIseeAdriansittingaloneatatablefortwo,readingaStarWarsnovel.
“CanIjoinyou?”
Andit’sfunny—thistime,hedoesn’trecognizeme,notrightaway,notinCaroline’sgorgeous$500dress.“Yes!Definitely!Mallory!Howareyou?”
“Ididn’trealizeitwouldbesocrowded.”
“It’salwaysbusyhere,”Adriansays.“Thisisthethird-hottestspotinSpringBrook.”
“Whataretheothertwo?”
“NumberoneisCheesecakeFactory,obviously.NumbertwoistheWegmanshotfoodbuffet.”Heshrugs.“Wedon’thavemuchofanightlife.”
Thegirlwiththeguitarfinishes“TearsinHeaven”totepidapplausebutAdrianclapslongandloud,andsheshootsanannoyedlookinourdirection.“MycousinGabriella,”hesays.“She’sonlyfifteen,canyoubelieveit?Shemarchedinherewithaguitarandtheygaveherajob.”
Gabriellaleansclosertothemicrophoneandsaysshe’sgoingtoswitchtotheBeatles,andthenshestartssingingasweetcoverof“Blackbird.”IlookatthebookAdrianisreading.ThecovershowsChewbaccafiringlasersatanarmyofrobots,andthetitleisprintedingiantsilver-foilletters:WookieeVengeance
“Isthatanygood?”
Adrianshrugs.“It’snotcanon?Sotheytakealotofliberties.ButifyoulikedEwokVengeance,you’lllovethisone.”
AndIcan’thelpmyself—Istartlaughing.“You’rereallysomething.Youlooklikealandscaper.You’vegotaFloridatananddirtunderyourfingernails.Butitturnsoutyou’reactuallyacountryclubkidandaStarWarsnerd.”
“Ispendmywholesummerpullingweeds.Ineedsomeescapistentertainment.”
“Iunderstand.IwatchHallmarkChannelforthesamereason.”
“Seriously?”
“Nojoke.I’veseenallfiveMurder,SheBakedmysteries.AndIdon’tsharethisinformationwithalotofpeoplesoI’mtrustingyoutokeepitsecret.”
AdriancrossesanXoverhisheart.“Yoursecret’ssafewithme,”hesays.“Whatbooksareyoureading?”AndIdon’thavetoanswerthequestionbecausemybooksarealreadyonthetableandAdriancanreadthespines:AbnormalChildPsychologyandTheEncyclopediaofSupernaturalPhenomena.“Thisishowyouunwindafteralongdayofbabysitting?”
“IfItoldyouwhyI’mreadingthesebooks,there’sagoodchanceyou’llthinkI’mcrazy.”
AdrianclosesWookieeVengeanceandsetsitaside,givingmehisfullandundividedattention.“Allmyfavoritestoriescomewiththatkindofwarning,”hesays.“Tellmeeverything.”
“It’sareallylongstory.”
“Ihavenowheretobe.”
“I’mwarningyou.ThebookstoremightclosebeforeIcanfinish.”
“Startfromthebeginninganddon’tleaveoutanydetails,”hetellsme.“Youneverknowwhat’sgoingtobeimportant.”
SoItellhimaboutmyjobinterviewwiththeMaxwells,abouttheguestcottage,aboutmydailyroutinewithTeddy.IdescribetheevolutionofTeddy’sdrawingsandthestrangeconversationshappeninginsideTeddy’sbedroom.ItellhimaboutmydiscussionswithMitziandtheMaxwells.IaskhimifheknowsthestoryofAnnieBarrett,andheassuresmethateverykidinSpringBrookknowsthestoryofAnnieBarrett.Apparentlyshe’sthelocalboogeyman,alwaysreadytopreyonchildrenwhostrayintotheforestafterdark.
Andafternearlyanhouroftalking(andafterhiscousinpacksupherguitarandheadshome,afterallthesurroundingtableshaveemptiedoutandit’sjustmeandAdrianandthecaféstaffwipingdowntables)Ireachintomybagandproducemylatestdiscovery—thedrawingsfromtherecyclingbin.
Adrianflipsthroughthepicturesinastonishment.“You’resayingTeddydrewthese?Five-year-oldTeddy?”
“ThatpapercomesfromTeddy’ssketchpad.AndIcanhearhimdrawinginthebedroom.Hecomesoutwithpencilalloverhisfingers.TheonlythingIcanthinkofis—”ItaptheEncyclopediaofSupernaturalPhenomena.“Maybehe’schannelingsomeone.Maybeit’sthespiritofAnnieBarrett.”
“YouthinkTeddyispossessed?”
“No.Thisisn’tTheExorcist.Annieisn’ttryingtodestroyTeddy’ssoulortakeoverhisbody.Shejustwantstoborrowhishand.SheusesitduringQuietTime,whenhe’saloneinhisbedroom.Andfortherestoftheday,sheleaveshimalone.”
IpausesoAdriancanlaughormakefunofme,buthedoesn’tsayanything,soIoutlinetherestofmytheory:“AnnieBarrettisagoodartist.Shealreadyknowshowtodraw.Butthisisherfirsttimedrawingwithsomeoneelse’sarm.Soherfirstfeweffortsareterrible.They’rejustscribbles.Butafteracouplepagesshegetsbetter.Shegainscontrolandthere’smoredetail.Texture,light,andshadow.She’smasteringhernewtool—Teddy’shand.”
“Sohowdidthesepagesendupinthetrash?”
“MaybeAnyaputthemthere.OrmaybeTeddydid,I’mnotsure.He’sbecomeveryprivateabouthisdrawings.”
Adriancyclesthroughthepicturesagain,thistimestudyingthemmoreclosely.Heturnssomeofthedrawingsupsidedown,searchingthescribblesforadeepermeaning.“Youknowwhattheyremindmeof?Thosepicture-puzzlesinHighlightsmagazine.Wheretheartisthidesstuffinthebackground.Like,theroofofthehouseisactuallyaboot,orapizza,orahockeystick,yourememberthose?”
Iknowthepuzzleshe’sdescribing—mysisterandIusedtolovethem—butIthinkthesepicturesaremorestraightforward.Ipointtothedrawingofthewomancryingoutinanguish.“Ithinkthisisaself-portrait.IthinkAnnie’sdrawingthestoryofhermurder.”
“Well,there’soneeasywaytofindout.Let’sgetaphotooftherealAnnieBarrett.Comparehertothewomaninthispicture.Seeiftheymatch.”
“Ialreadylooked.There’snothingonline.”
“Well,luckyforyou,mymotherworkssummersattheSpringBrookpubliclibrary.Theyhaveamassivearchiveoftownhistory.Awholebasementfullofmaterials.Ifanyone’sgoingtohaveapictureofAnnieBarrett,it’sthem.”
“Couldyouaskher?Wouldshemind?”
“Areyoukidding?Shelivesforthisstuff.She’sateacherandapart-timelibrarian.IfItellheryou’reresearchinglocalhistory,she’llbeyournewbestfriend.”
Hepromisestoaskherfirstthinginthemorning,andIfeelsomuchbetter,nowthatI’vesharedmyproblems.“Thankyou,Adrian.I’mgladyoudon’tthinkI’mcrazy.”
Heshrugs.“Ithinkwehavetoconsidereverypossibility.‘Whenyoueliminatetheimpossible,allthatremains,howeverimprobable,mustbethetruth.’That’sSpockinStarTrekVI,buthe’sparaphrasingSherlockHolmes.”
“MyGod,”Itellhim.“Youreallyareanerd.”
Wewalkhomeinthedarkandwehavethesidewalkstoourselves.Theneighborhoodfeelssafe,quiet,peaceful.Adrianplaystourguide,pointingoutthehousesofhismostnotorioushighschoolclassmates,likeTheDudeWhoRolledHisParents’SUVandTheGirlWhoHadtoChangeSchoolsAfteraScandalousTikTokVideo.IgetthesenseheknowseveryoneinSpringBrook,thathishighschoolyearswerelikeaglossyNetflixteendrama,oneofthosesillysoapoperaswhereeveryoneisbeautifulandtheoutcomeofavarsityfootballgamehaslife-alteringconsequences.
Thenhepointstoahouseonthecornerandtellsmeit’swhereTracyBantamgrewup.
“ShouldIknowwhothatis?”
“ThepointguardfortheLadyLions.PennState’swomen’sbasketballteam.Ifiguredyoukneweachother.”
“PennStateisenormous,”Itellhim.“Therearefiftythousandstudents.”
“Iknow,Ijustfiguredallthejockswenttothesameparties.”
Idon’tanswerAdrianrightaway.He’sgivingmetheperfectopportunitytocomeclean.Ishouldtellhimitwasastupidjoke,agameIplaywithstrangers.Clearupthetruthbeforeourrelationshipgoesanyfurther.Ithinkit’spossiblehe’llunderstand.
ExceptIcan’ttellAdrianpartofthetruthwithouttellinghimthewholetruth.IfItellhimthatIneveractuallywenttocollege,I’llhavetoexplainhowI’vespentthelastfewyears—andthere’snowayI’mreadytogetintoallthat,notrightnow,notwhenwe’rehavingsuchaniceconversation.SoIjustchangethesubject.
WearriveattheFlowerCastlebutAdriansayshe’llwalkmehomeandIdon’tobject.HeaskswhereI’mfromandhe’ssurprisedtolearnthatIgrewupinSouthPhilly,thatIcouldseeCitizensBankParkfrommybedroomwindow.“Youdon’tsoundlikeyou’refromthecity.”
IgivehimmybestRockyBalboa:“Yo,Adrian!Youtinkwealltawklikedis?”
“It’snotyourvoice.It’sthewayyoupresentyourself.You’resopositive.You’renotjadedlikeeveryoneelse.”
Oh,Adrian,Ithinktomyself.Youreallyhavenoidea.
Heasks,“AreyourparentsstillinSouthPhilly?”
“Justmymom.TheysplitupwhenIwasyoung,andmydadmovedtoHouston.Ihardlyknowhim.”
Thisisalltrue,soIthinkmyanswersoundsfairlyconvincing,butthenAdrianasksifIhaveanysiblings.
“Justonesister.Beth.”
“Olderoryounger?”
“Younger.She’sthirteen.”
“Doesshegotoyourmeets?”
“Allthetime.It’sthreehoursinthecar,oneway,butifit’sahomeracemymotherandsisteralwayscome.”Andmyvoicecatches—Idon’tknowwhyI’msayingallthisstuff.Iwanttobehonestwithhim,tohavearealrelationship,andinsteadI’mjustpilingonmorelies.
ButasIwalkthesemoonlitsidewalkswiththisverysweetandhandsomelawnboy,it’ssoeasytosurrendertofantasy.Myrealpastfeelsamillionmilesaway.
WhenwefinallyreachtheMaxwells’house,it’sdark.It’saftertenthirtyandeveryonemustbeinbed.Wefollowthetinyflagstonepatharoundthesideofthehouseandit’sevendarkeroutback,withjusttheshimmeringbluelightofthepooltoguidetheway.
Adriansquintsacrosstheyard,scanningthetreesfortheoutlineofmycottage.“Where’syourhouse?”
Ican’tseeit,either.“Somewherebackinthosetrees.Ilefttheporchlighton,butIguessthebulbburnedout.”
“Hmmph.That’sweird.”
“Isit?”
“Afterallthestoriesyoujusttoldme?Idon’tknow.”
Wewalkacrossthelawntothecottage,andAdrianwaitsonthegrasswhileIclimbthestepstomyporch.Itrythedoorandit’sstilllocked,soIreachformykeys.SuddenlyI’mgratefultoCarolineforinsistingIputtheViperonmykeychain.“MaybeI’lljustlookinsideforaminute.Wouldyoumindwaiting?”
“Noproblem.”
Iunlockthedoor,reachinside,andtoggletheswitchfortheporchlight—definitelydead.Buttheinteriorlightworksfine,andthecottagelooksjustasIleftit.Nothinginmykitchen,nothinginthebathroom.Ievengetdownonmykneesandtakeaquickpeekunderthebed.
“Everythingokay?”Adriancalls.
Iwalkbackoutside.“It’sfine.Ijustneedanewbulb.”
AdrianpromisestocallwhenhehasmoreinformationaboutAnnieBarrett.Iwatchandwaitashecrossestheyardandroundsthesideofthehouse,disappearingfromview.
AndasIturntoenterthecottage,myfootbrushesanuglygrayrockaboutthesizeofatennisball.IlookdownandrealizeI’mstandingonpaper,threesheetsofpaperwithraggededges,andtherockisholdingtheminplace.Keepingmybacktothedoorofthecottage,Ireachdownandpickthemup.
ThenIgoinside,lockthedoor,andsitattheedgeofmybed,turningthepagesoneatatime.They’relikethethreedrawingsthatTedMaxwellrippedintopieces—thethreedrawingshesworeI’dneverseeagain.Onlythey’vebeendrawnbyadifferenthand.Thesedrawingsaredarkerandmoredetailed.Theyusesomuchpencilandcharcoal,thepaperhaswarpedandbuckled.Amanisdiggingagrave.Awomanisbeingdraggedthroughaforest.Andsomeoneislookingupfromthebottomofaverydeephole.
12
ThenextmorningIwalkovertothemainhouseandTeddyiswaitingformeattheslidingglasspatiodoors,holdingasmallnotepadandpencil.“Goodmorningandwelcometomyrestaurant,”hesays.“Howmanyareinyourparty?”
“Justone,Monsieur.”
“Rightthisway.”
Allhisstuffedanimalsareseatedinchairsaroundthekitchentable.TeddyleadsmetoanemptyseatbetweenGodzillaandBlueElephant.Hepullsoutachairandhandsmeapapernapkin.IcanhearCarolineupstairs,franticallycrisscrossingherbedroom.Itsoundslikeshe’llbelateleavingthehouseagain
Teddystandspatientlyatmyside,pencilandnotepadinhand,readytotakemyorder.“Wedon’treallyhaveamenu,”hesays.“Wecanmakeanythingyouwant.”
“InthatcaseI’llhavescrambledeggs.Withbaconandpancakesandspaghettiandicecream.”Thismakeshimlaugh,soImilkthejokeforallit’sworth.“Andcarrots,hamburgers,tacos,andwatermelon.”
Hedoublesoverwithgiggles.ThekidhasawayofmakingmefeellikeKateMcKinnononSNL,likeeverythingIdoiscomedygold.“Ifyousayso!”hesays,andthenhewobblesovertohisplaychesttofillmyplatewithplasticfood.
ThelandlinestartsringingandCarolinecallsdownstairstome.“Letthatgotovoicemail,please,Idon’thavetime!”
Afterthreerings,themachinepicksup,andIcanhearthemessagebeingrecorded:“Goodmorning!ThisisDianaFarrellatSpringBrookElementary…”
It’stheirthirdmessageinaweekandCarolineswoopsintothekitchen,hurryingtocatchthecallerbeforeshehangsup.“Hello,thisisCaroline.”Sheshootsmeanexasperatedlook—canyoubelievethisfreakingschoolsystem??—andcarriesthephoneintotheden.MeanwhileTeddybringsmeaplatethat’spiledhighwithplaytoys:plasticeggsandplasticspaghettiandseveralscoopsofplasticicecream.Ishakemyheadandpretendtobeoutraged.“I’mprettysureIorderedbacon!”
Teddylaughs,runsacrosstheroomtohistoychest,andreturnswithastripofplasticbacon.I’mtryingtoeavesdroponCaroline’scallbutshe’snotsayingverymuch.It’sliketheconversationshappeningatQuietTimeinTeddy’sbedroom,wheretheotherpersonisdoingmostofthetalking.She’sjustsaying“Right,right”and“ofcourse”and“no,thankyou.”
Ipretendtostuffmyselfwithplasticfoodlikeafathogatatrough.Imakealotofsnuffingandsnortingnoises,andTeddyroarswithlaughter.Carolineentersthekitchenwiththecordlessphoneandputsitbackinthecradle.
“Thatwasyournewschoolprincipal,”shetellsTeddy.“Shecannotwaittomeetyou!”
Thenshegiveshimabighugandkissandhurriesoutthedoor,becauseit’salready7:38andshe’scrazy-late.
AfterI’vefinished“eating”mybreakfast,IpaymypretendbillwithpretendmoneyandaskTeddywhathefeelslikedoing.AndIguesshe’sreallyinthemoodtopretendbecausehewantstoplayEnchantedForestagain.
WefollowYellowBrickRoadandDragonPassdowntotheRoyalRiver,andthenweclimbthebranchesoftheGiantBeanstalkuntilwe’retenfeetabovetheground.There’sasmallhollowinoneofthelimbs,andTeddydutifullyfillsitwithsmallrocksandsharpsticks—anarsenalofweapons,incasewe’reeverattackedbygoblins.
“Goblinscan’tclimbtreesbecausetheirarmsaretooshort,”Teddyexplains.“Sowecanhideinthesebranchesandthrowstonesatthem.”
Wespendthemorningimmersedinagameofendlessinventionandimprovisation.IntheEnchantedForest,everythingispossible,nothingisoff-limits.TeddystopsonthebanksoftheRoyalRiverandtellsmeIshoulddrinkthewater.Hesaystheriverhasmagicalpropertiesthatwillkeepusfromgettingcaptured.
“Ialreadyhaveagallonbackatmycottage,”Itellhim.“I’llshareitwithyouwhenwegethome.”
“Perfect!”heexclaims.
Andthenheskipsoffdownthepath,leadingthewaytothenextdiscovery.
“Bytheway,”Icallafterhim.“Ifoundthepicturesyouleftforme.”
Teddylooksbackandsmiles,waitingformetoelaborate.
“Thepicturesyouleftonmyporch.”
“Ofthegoblins?”
“No,Teddy,thepicturesofAnyabeingburied.They’rereallywelldone.Didsomeonehelpyou?”
Nowhelooksconfused—likeI’veabruptlychangedtherulesofthegamewithouttellinghim.
“Idon’tdrawAnyaanymore.”
“It’sokay.I’mnotupset.”
“ButIdidn’tdoit.”
“Youleftthemonmyporch.Underarock.”
Hethrowsuphishandsinexasperation.“CanwejustplayregularEnchantedForest?Please?Idon’tlikethisotherway.”
“Sure.”
IrealizethatmaybeI’veintroducedthesubjectatthewrongtime.Butafterweheadbacktothehouseforlunch,Idon’twanttobringitupanymore.ImakeussomechickennuggetsandTeddygoesupstairsforQuietTime.Iwaitalittlewhile,andthenIfollowhimupstairsandputmyeartohisbedroomdoor.AndIcanhearthewhisperofhispencilmovingacrossthepage,scritchscritchscritch
LaterthatafternoonRussellcallsandinvitesmetodinner.I’mstilltiredfromthenightbeforesoIsuggestpushingitoff,butRussellsayshe’sleavingforatwo-weekvacation—ithastobetonight.“Ifoundarestaurantnearyourhouse.ACheesecakeFactory.”
IalmostlaughbecauseRussellissuchasticklerforhealthfuleating.Hisdietisalmostentirelyplantsandproteins—noaddedsugarsorcarbs,justoccasionalspoonfulsofcarobchipsandorganichoney.
“Cheesecake?You’reserious?”
“Ialreadybookedatable.Seventhirty.”
SoafterCarolinegoeshome,IshowerandputonadressandonmywayoutofthecottageIreachforthepileofTeddy’slatestdrawings.AndthenIstopinthedoorway,hesitating.AftersharingthewholestorywithAdrianatthebookstore,IknowI’dneedanhourtogetthrougheverything.AndsoIdecidetoleavethedrawingsathome.IwantRusselltofeelproudofme.Iwanttoprojecttheimageofastrong,capablewomanthrivinginrecovery.Idon’twanttoburdenhimwithallmyworries.SoIstashthedrawingsinmynightstand.
Therestaurantisbig,crowded,thrummingwithenergy—atypicalCheesecakeFactory.ThehostessleadsmetoatablewhereRusselliswaiting.He’sdressedinanavy-bluetracksuitandhisfavoriteHOKAsneakers,theonesheworeintheNewYorkCityMarathon.“Theresheis!”Hegivesmeahug,thenlooksmeupanddown.“Whathappened,Quinn?Youlookwipedout.”
“Thanks,Coach.Youlookgood,too.”
Wesettledowninourseats,andIorderaseltzer.
“I’mserious,”hesays.“Areyousleepingokay?”
“I’mfine.Thecottageisalittlenoisyatnight.ButI’mmanaging.”
“HaveyoutoldtheMaxwells?Maybetheycandosomething.”
“Theyofferedmearoominthemainhouse.ButItoldyou,I’mfine.”
“Youcan’ttrainifyou’renotresting.”
“Itwasjustonebadnight.Iswear.”
Itrychangingthesubjecttothemenu,whichhascaloriecountsandnutritionalinformationundereveryentrée.“DidyouseethePastaNapolitano?It’stwenty-fivehundredcalories.”
Russellordersatossedgreensaladwithgrilledchickenandvinaigrettedressingontheside.IgettheGlamburgerwithasideofsweetpotatofries.Wetalkabitabouthisupcomingvacation—twoweeksinLasVegaswithhisladyfriend,Doreen,apersonaltrainerathisYMCA.ButIcantellhe’sstilltroubled.Afterwe’vefinishedeating,hesteerstheconversationbacktome.
“Sohow’sSpringBrook?HowaretheNAmeetings?”
“It’sanoldercrowd,Russell.Nooffense.”
“Areyougoingonceaweek?”
“Don’tneedto.I’msteady.”
Icantellhedoesn’tlikethisanswer,buthedoesn’tgivemeanyflak.
“Howaboutfriends?Areyoumeetingpeople?”
“Iwentoutwithafriendlastnight.”
“Where’dyoumeether?”
“HeisastudentatRutgers,andhe’shomeforthesummer.”
Mysponsornarrowshiseyes,concerned.“It’salittleearlyfordating,Quinn.You’reonlyeighteenmonthssober.”
“We’rejustfriends.”
“Soheknowsyou’resober?”
“Yes,Russell,thatwasourveryfirsttopicofconversation.ItoldhimhowInearlyoverdosedinthebackofanUber.ThenwetalkedaboutthenightsIsleptatthetrainstation.”
Heshrugs,likethesewouldbeperfectlysensiblethingstodiscuss.“I’vesponsoredalotofcollegekids,Mallory.Thesecampuses—thefraternities,thebingedrinking—they’rebreedinggroundsforaddicts.”
“Wehadaveryquieteveninginabookstore.Wedrankseltzerwaterandlistenedtomusic.ThenhewalkedmebacktotheMaxwells’house.Itwasnice.”
“Thenexttimeyouseehim,youshouldtellhimthetruth.Thisispartofyouridentity,Mallory,youneedtoembraceit.Thelongeryouwait,theharderitgets.”
“Isthiswhyyouinvitedmehere?Tolectureme?”
“No,IinvitedyouherebecauseCarolinecalledme.She’sworriedaboutyou.”
I’mblindsided.“Seriously?”
“Shesaidyoustartedoffgreat.Shecalledyouadynamo,Quinn.Shewasreallyhappywithyourperformance.Butthelastfewdays,shesaidshe’snoticedachange.AndanytimeIhearthosewords—”
“I’mnotusing,Russell.”
“Good,okay,that’sgood.”
“DidshesayIwasusing?”
“Shesaidyouwereactingstrangely.Shesawyououtsideatseveninthemorning,diggingthroughhertrashcans.Whattheheckwasthatallabout?”
IrealizeCarolinemusthavespottedmethroughherbedroomwindow.“Itwasnothing.Ithrewsomethingawaybymistake.Ihadtogetitback.Bigdeal.”
“Shesaysyou’retalkingaboutghosts.Youthinkmaybehersonispossessed?”
“No,Ineversaidthat.Shemisunderstoodme.”
“Shesaysyou’regettingchummywithauserwholivesnextdoor.”
“YoumeanMitzi?I’vetalkedtoMitzitwotimes.Infourweeks.DoesthatmakeusBFFs?”
Russellgesturesformetokeepmyvoicedown.Eveninthecrowdednoisydiningroom,someofourneighborsareturningtostare.“I’mheretohelpyou,okay?Isthereanythingyouwanttotalkabout?”
CanIreallytellhim?CanIreallyoutlineallmyconcernsaboutAnnieBarrett?No,Icannot.BecauseIknowallmyworriessoundridiculous.AndIjustwantmysponsortobeproudofme.
“Let’stalkaboutdessert.I’mthinkingChocolateHazelnutCheesecake.”
Iofferhimalaminatedmenu,buthewon’tacceptit.“Don’tchangethesubject.Youneedthisjob.Ifyougetfired,there’snogoingbacktoSafeHarbor.They’vegotawaitlistlongerthanyourarm.”
“I’mnotgoingbacktoSafeHarbor.I’mgoingtodoanamazingjob,andCarolineisgoingtoraveaboutmetoallherneighbors,andwhenthesummer’soverIbetshekeepsmeon.OrI’llgoworkforanotherfamilyinSpringBrook.That’stheplan.”
“Whataboutthefather?How’sTed?”
“Whatabouthim?”
“Ishenice?”
“Yes.”
“Ishetoonice?Maybealittlehandsy?”
“Didyoureallyjustusethewordhandsy?”
“YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.Sometimestheseguyslosesightofboundaries.Ortheyseetheboundaryandtheydon’tcare.”
Ithinkbacktomyswimminglessonfromtwoweeksago,thenightTedcomplimentedmeonmytattoo.Iguesshe’dputahandonmyshoulder,butit’snotlikehegrabbedmyass.“He’snothandsy,Russell.He’sfine.I’mfine.We’reallfine.Nowcanwepleaseorderdessert?”
Thistime,hegrudginglyacceptsamenu.“Whichonearewelookingat?”
“ChocolateHazelnut.”
Heflipstothebackofthemenu,totheindexlistingallthenutritionalinformation.“Fourteenhundredcalories?Areyoushittingme?”
“Andninety-twogramsofsugar.”
“Goodlord,Quinn.Peoplemustdieinthisrestauranteveryweek.Theymusthaveheartattackswalkingouttotheircars.Thereshouldbemedicsintheparkinglot,waitingtorevivethem.”
OurwaitressseesRussellbrowsingthedesserts.She’sateenager,smilingandcheerful.“Lookslikesomeone’sthinkingcheesecake!”
“Notachance,”hesays.“Butmyfriend’sgoingtohavesome.She’shealthyandstrongandshehasherwholelifeaheadofher.”
AfterdessertRussellinsistsondrivingmebacktotheMaxwells’,soIwon’thavetocrossthehighwayafterdark.It’salmostninethirtywhenwepulluptothehouse.
“Thankyouforthecheesecake,”Itellhim.“Ihopeyouhaveagreatvacation.”
IopenthedoortothecarandRussellstopsme.“Listen,areyousureyou’reokay?”
“Howmanytimesareyougoingtoaskme?”
“Justtellmewhyyou’reshaking.”
WhyamIshaking?BecauseI’mnervous.I’mafraidI’mgoingtowalkuptothecottageandfindmoredrawingsontheporch—that’swhyI’mshaking.ButI’mnotabouttoexplainanyofthistoRussell.
“Ijustatefiftygramsofsaturatedfat.Mybody’sgoingintoshock.”
Helooksskeptical.Thisistheclassicsponsor’sdilemma:Youneedtotrustyoursponsee,youneedtoshowyoubelieveinthemandhaveabsolutefaithintheirrecovery.Butwhentheystartactingweird—whentheystartshiveringincarsonhotsummernights—youneedtobethebadguy.Youneedtoaskthetoughquestions.
Iopenhisgloveboxandit’sstillfullofdipcards.“Youwanttotestme?”
“No,Mallory.Ofcoursenot.”
“You’reobviouslyworried.”
“Iam,butItrustyou.Thosecardsarenotforyou.”
“Letmedoitanyway.LetmeproveI’mfine.”
He’sgotasleeveofpapercupsrattlingaroundthefloorofthebackseatsoIreachdownandgrabone.Russelltakesadipcardfromthegloveboxandwebothgetoutofthecar.Morethananything,Ijustwantcompanywalkingbacktomycottage.I’mafraidtogohomebymyself.
Onceagain,thebackyardisdark.Istillhaven’treplacedthedeadbulbthat’sovermyporch.“Wherearewegoing?”Russellasks.“Where’syourhouse?”
Ipointtowardthetrees.“Backhere.You’llsee.”
WestepcloserandIbegintodiscernitsshape.Ialreadyhavemykeysinhand,soItest-firetheViperanditmakesaloudcracklingnoise,illuminatingthebackyardlikeaflashoflightning.
“Jesus,”Russellsays.“Whatthehellisthat?”
“Carolinegavemeastungun.”
“There’snocrimeinSpringBrook.Whatdoyouneedastungunfor?”
“She’samom,Russell.Sheworriesaboutstuff.IpromisedherIwouldkeepitonmykeychain.”
TheViperhasatinyLEDflashlightandIuseittoscanthecottageporch:nonewrocksandnonewpictures.IunlockthedoorandturnonthelightsandleadRussellintothecottage.Hiseyeswandertheroom—ostensiblyhe’sadmiringwhatI’vedonewiththeplace,butRussellisaveteransponsorandIknowhe’salsoscanningtheroomforsignsoftrouble.“Thisisreallynice,Quinn.Didyoudoallthisworkyourself?”
“No,theMaxwellsdecoratedbeforeImovedin.”Itaketheplasticcupfromhishand.“Givemeaminute.Makeyourselfathome.”
Youmightthinkit’sgross,cominghomefromanicedinnerandpeeingintoapapercupandthensharingthatcupwithaclosefriendsohecananalyzeitscontents.Butifyouspendanytimeinrehabyougetusedtoitprettyfast.Igointothebathroomanddowhatneedstohappen.ThenIwashmyhandsandreturnwiththesample.
Russelliswaitinganxiously.Sincemylivingroomisalsomybedroom,Ithinkhe’sfeelingalittleawkward,likehe’sbreachedsomekindofsponsor-sponseeprotocol.“I’monlydoingthisbecauseyouvolunteered,”heremindsme.“I’mnotreallyworried.”
“Iknow.”
Hedipsthecardinthecup,holdingitinplaceuntilthestripsaresaturated,andthenhelaysitacrossthetopofthecupwhileweawaittheresults.Hetalksalittlemoreabouthisvacation,abouthishopesofhikingdowntothebottomoftheGrandCanyonifhiskneescooperate.Butwedon’thavetowaitverylong.Thetestpanelsshowsinglelinesfornegativesanddoublelinesforpositives—andnegativeresultsalwaysappearquickly.
“Squeakyclean,justlikeyousaid.”
Hetakesthecup,walksitbacktomybathroom,andflushestheurinedownthetoilet.Thenhecrumplesitupandpushesitdeepdownintomywastebasket,alongwiththetestcard.Finallyhewasheshishands,patientlyandmethodically,underwarmwater.“I’mproudofyou,Quinn.I’llcallyouwhenI’mback.Twoweeks,okay?”
Afterheleaves,Ilockthedoorandchangeintomypajamas,fullofdeliciouscheesecakeandfeelingratherproudofmyself.I’veleftmytabletcomputercharginginthekitchen,andsinceit’sstillearlyIthinkImightwatchamovie.ButasIwalkaroundthekitchencountertoretrievethetablet,IseethedrawingsI’vebeendreading—notpinnedbyarocktomyporch,butpinnedbymagnetstomyrefrigerator.
Iyankthedrawingsofftherefrigeratorandthemagnetsclattertothefloor.Thepagesarelimpwithmoistureandalittlewarm,likethey’vejustcomefromanoven.IputthemfacedownonthecountersoIwon’thavetolookatthem.
ThenIhurryaroundmycottageandlockbothmywindows.ThenightaheadwillbewarmandstuffyandpossiblysleeplessbutaftermydiscoveryI’mnottakinganychances.Irollbacktherugandcheckthehatchinthefloor—it’sstillsecurelynailedshut.ThenIdragmybedacrossthecottageanduseittobarricadethedoor.Ifanyonetriestoopenit,thedoorwillbangintothefootboardandjoltmeawake.
AsIseeit,therearethreepossiblewaysthesedrawingsendeduponmyrefrigerator.
#1:TheMaxwells.Iknowtheyhaveakeytomycottage.Isupposeit’spossiblethatTedorCarolinedrewthesepicturesandthen—whileIwasouthavingdinnerwithRussell—oneofthementeredmycottageandleftthedrawingsonmyrefrigerator.Butwhy?Ican’tthinkofasingleplausiblereasonforeitheroneofthemtodothis.I’mresponsibleforthesafetyandwelfareoftheirchild.Whywouldtheywanttogaslightme,tomakemefeellikeI’mgoingcrazy?
#2:Teddy.Perhapsthissweetfive-year-oldchildswipedasparekeyfromhisparents,thensneakedoutofhisbedroom,creptacrossthebackyard,andcarriedthedrawingsinsidemycottage.Buttobelievethistheory,youalsohavetobelievethatTeddyissomekindofmagicalartisticsavant—thathe’sgonefromdrawingstickfigurestofullyrealisticthree-dimensionalillustrationswithconvincinglightandshadow—allinamatterofdays.
#3.Anya.IhavenoideawhathappensinTeddy’sbedroomduringQuietTime—butwhatifAnyareallyiscontrollinghim?Takingpossessionofhisbodyandusinghishandtodrawthesepictures?Andthensomehow“carrying”thesefinisheddrawingsintomycottage?
Iknow,Iknow:Itsoundscrazy.
ButwhenIlookatallthreetheories?WhenIcomparethemtoeachother?Themostimpossibleexplanationseemslikethemostlikelyexplanation.
Andthatnight—whileI’mtossingandturninginbed,strugglingtofallasleep—IfigureoutawaytoproveI’mright.
13
Thenextdayatlunch,IheaddownstairstotheMaxwells’basementandstartopeningboxes.Thebasementisfilledwithshippingcartonsthey’veyettounpackandIonlyhavetoopenthreebeforeIfindwhatI’mlookingfor.IknewtheMaxwellswouldhaveababymonitor,andtomydelightitlooksprettystate-of-the-art.ThetransmitterisanHDcamerawithinfrarednightvisionandregular/wide-anglelenses.Thereceiverisalargescreenaboutthesizeofapaperbackbook.Istasheverythinginasmallshoeboxandcarryitupstairs.WhenIreturntothekitchen,Teddyiswaiting.
“Whatwereyoudoinginthebasement?”
“Justpokingaround,”Itellhim.“Let’sgetyousomeravioli.”
Iwaituntilhe’sbusyeatinghislunch,andthenIsneakupstairstohisbedroomandlookforaplacetohidethecamera.I’verealizedthatifIwanttoknowwherethepicturesarecomingfrom,Ineedtoseewherethey’recomingfrom—IneedtoseeinsidehisbedroomduringQuietTime
Buthidingthecameraisn’teasy.It’sbig,clunky,anddifficulttoconceal.Evenworse,ithastobepluggedintoapoweroutlet.ButIfindasolutioninTeddy’smountainofstuffedanimals—Iburythecameraeversocarefully,sothelenspeeksoutbetweenSnoopyandWinnie-the-Pooh.Imakesureit’spluggedinandsettotransmit,andthenIkissthecrossthathangsfrommyneck,hopingtoGodTeddywon’tnoticeanythingunusual.
IreturntothekitchenandsitwithTeddywhilehefinisheshislunch.He’schattythismorning.He’scomplainingaboutgoingtothebarbershop—Teddyhatesgoingtothebarbershop,hesayshewantstogrowhishairlong,liketheCowardlyLion—butIbarelylisten.I’mtoonervous.I’mabouttogetanswerstomanyofmyquestions,butI’mnotsureI’mreadyforthem.
Afterwhatfeelslikehours,TeddyfinisheshisfoodandIsendhimupstairsforQuietTime.ThenIhurryintothedenandpluginthereceiver.Teddy’sbedroomisdirectlyaboveme,sotheaudioandvideoarecrystalclear.ThecameraispointedtowardhisbedandIcanseemostofthefloor—thetwoplaceswherehe’smostlikelytositanddraw.
Ihearthedoortohisbedroomopenandclose.Teddyenterstheframefromtheright,crossesovertohisdesk,andthengrabshissketchbookandpencilcase.Thenheleapsontopofhisbed.Ihearthesoftthumpofhismattressthroughthereceiverandthroughtheceilingabovemyhead,likeit’sbeingbroadcastinstereo.
Teddysitswithhisbackagainsttheheadboard,legsbent,usinghiskneestosupportthesketchbook.Hearrangesarowofpencilsonthenightstandbesidehisbed.Thenheremovesaminiaturepencilsharpener—thekindthatcollectstheshavingsinaclearplasticdome.Hetwistsapencilinside—skritch,skritch,skritch—thentakesitout,examinesthepoint,anddecidesit’snotsharpenough.Heputsitbackin—skritch,skritch—andthendecidesit’sready.
Ilookawayforaninstant—justlongenoughtotakeasipofwater—andwhenIlookback,thevideoissputtering,freezingandskippingframes,likeitcan’tkeepupwiththeaudio.IcanstillhearthesharpeningsoundsbutthevideoisfrozenonanimageofTeddyreachingforapencil.
Andthenasingleword,spokensoftly,notmuchlouderthanawhisper:“Hello.”
It’sfollowedbyaquickhissofstatic.Thevideoskipsforward,thenfreezesagain.Theimagehasturnedblurry,lo-res.Teddyislookingupfromhissketchpad,directinghisattentiontowardthedoorofhisbedroom,tosomeoneorsomethingjustoutsidetheframe.
“Gettingthepencilsready,”hesays,andthenlaughs.“Thepencils?Fordrawing.”
There’salongerhissofstatic,andthenoiserisesandfallswitharhythmthatremindsmeofbreathing.Somethinginthemicrophonecracklesandpopsandagainthepictureskipsforward—nowTeddyislookingrightatthecamera,andhisheadhasdoubledinsize.It’slikeareflectioninafunhousemirror;hisfeaturesarestretchedtoimpossibleproportions,hisarmsareshortlittleflippersbuthisfaceisenormous.
“Careful,”hewhispers.“Gently.”
Thestaticgetslouder.Itryturningdownthevolumebuttheknobdoesn’tdoanything;thesoundgetslouderandlouderuntilIhearitallaroundme,likeit’sescapedthespeakerandfilledtheroom.Thevideoskipsaheadandthere’sTeddysprawledoutonhismattress,armsextended,hisbodyconvulsing,andIcanhearhisbedthump-thump-thumpingontheceiling.
Irunoutoftheden,throughthefoyer,andupthestairstothesecondfloor.IreachforTeddy’sdoorknobbutitwon’tturn,it’sstuck,it’slocked.
Orsomethingisholdingitclosed.
“Teddy!”
Ibangmyfistsonthedoor.ThenIstepbackandkickit,likeI’veseenpeopledoinmovies,butallthisdoesishurtmyfoot.ItrysmashingmyshoulderintothedoorandthishurtssomuchIsinktothefloor,clutchingmyside.AndthenIrealizeIcanseeintoTeddy’sroom.There’satinyhalf-inchgapbeneathhisdoor.Ilieonmyside,restmyheadonthefloor,closeoneeye,andpeerintothegap,andthesmellhitsmehard—atoxicpunchofconcentratedammonia,ventingfromtheroomlikewarmexhaust.ItfillsmymouthandIrollaway,coughingandgaggingandclutchingatmythroatlikeI’vebeenpepper-sprayed.Tearsstreamdownmyface.Myheartisgoingamileaminute.
AndasI’mlyinginthehallwaywipingthesnotfrommynoseandtryingtorecover,tryingtomustertheenergytosimplysitup,Ihearthetinymechanisminthedoorknobclick.
Iscrambletomyfeetandopenthedoor.AgainI’mhitbythestench—it’sthesmellofurine,extremelyconcentrated,suspendedintheairlikesteamfromashower.Ipullmyshirtupandovermymouth.Teddyseemsunaffectedbytheodor;he’soblivioustoallmyshouting.He’ssittingonhisbedwithasketchpadinhislapandapencilinhisrighthand.He’sworkingquickly,slashingthickblacklinesacrossthepage
“Teddy!”
Hedoesn’tlookup.Doesn’tseemlikehe’sheardme.Hishandkeepsmoving—shadingthepagewithdarkness,fillingintheblacknightsky.
“Teddy,listen,areyouallright?”
Stillheignoresme.Istepclosertohisbedandmyfootcomesdownononeofhisstuffedanimals,aplushhorsethatemitsanoisyhigh-pitchedwhinny.
“Teddy,lookatme.”IplacemyhandonhisshoulderandfinallyhelooksupandIseethathiseyesarecompletelywhite.Hispupilshaverolledbackintohishead.Butstillhishandkeepsmoving,drawingwithoutseeing.IgrabhiswristandI’mshockedbytheheatofhisskin,bythestrengththat’scoiledinhisarm.Normallyhisbodyislooseandfloppylikearagdoll’s.Ioftenjokethathehashollowbones,becausehe’slightenoughtoliftoffthegroundandspininacircle.Butnowthere’sastrangeenergythrummingbeneaththeskin;hefeelslikeallhismusclesareclenched,likeasmallpitbullterrierpoisedtoattack.
Thenhiseyessnapbackintoplace.
Heblinksatme.“Mallory?”
“Whatareyoudoing?”
Herealizeshe’sholdingapencilandheinstantlydropsit.“Idon’tknow.”
“Youweredrawing,Teddy.Iwaswatching.Yourwholebodywasshaking.Likeyouwerehavingaseizure.”
“I’msorry—”
“Don’tapologize.I’mnotangry.”
Hislowerlipisquivering.“IsaidIwassorry!”
“Justtellmewhathappened!”
AndIknowI’myellingbutIcan’thelpmyself.I’mtoofreakedoutbyeverythingI’mseeing.Therearetwopicturesonthefloorandathirdinprocessonthesketchpad.
“Teddy,listentome.Whoisthisgirl?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“IssheAnya’sdaughter?”
“Idon’tknow!”
“Whyareyoudrawingthesethings?”
“Ididn’t,Mallory,Iswear!”
“Thenwhyaretheyinyourroom?”
Hetakesadeepbreath.“IknowAnyaisn’treal.Iknowshe’snotreallyhere.SometimesIdreamwe’redrawingtogether,butwhenIwakeupthereareneveranypictures.”Heflingsthesketchpadacrosstheroom,likehe’stryingtodenyitsexistence.“Thereshouldn’tbeanypictures!Wejustdreamthem!”
AndIrealizewhat’shappening:Anyamustbetakingthepicturesoutofthebedroom,beforeTeddywakesup,sohewon’thavetolookatthem.AndI’vecomealongandinterruptedtheirusualprocess.
It’salltoomuchforTeddybecauseheexplodesintotearsandIpullhimintomyarmsandhisbodyissoftandlooseagain;hefeelslikearegularboyagain.IrealizeI’maskinghimtoexplainsomethinghedoesn’tunderstand.I’maskinghimtoexplaintheimpossible.
Heplaceshisrighthandinmine,andIseehistinyfingersaresmudgedwithdirtypencilmarks.Iholdhimtightandcalmhimdownandassurehimthateverythingisgoingtobeokay.
Butreally,I’mnotsosure.
BecauseIknowforafactthiskidisalefty.
14
Thatnight,Adriancomesoverandtogetherwereviewalltheillustrations.Thereareninedrawingsintotal—thethreepicturesleftonmyporch,thethreepicturespinnedtomyrefrigerator,andthethreepicturesIcollectedtodayfromTeddy’sbedroom.Adriankeepsreshufflingthepages,likehe’stryingtoputtheminaproperorder,asifthere’ssomekindofmagicalsequencethatmightrevealastory.ButI’vebeenthinkingaboutthemallafternoonandIstillcan’tmakesenseofthem.
It’sduskandthesunisalmostdown.Theairinthebackyardishazyandgray.Theforestisfulloffirefliesblinkingonandoff.Acrossthewayatthebighouse,throughthewindowsofthekitchen,IcanseeCarolineloadingthedishwasher;she’scleaningupdinnerwhileTedisupstairsputtingtheirsontobed.
AdrianandIsitsidebysideonthestepsofthecottage,scrunchedsocloseourkneesarenearlytouching.Itellhimaboutmyexperimentwiththebabycam,howIwatchedTeddydrawwithouttheuseofhiseyes,withouttheuseofhisdominanthand.AndbyallrightsAdrianshouldtellmeI’mcrazy—Iknowmystorysoundscrazy—soI’mrelievedwhenhetakesmeseriously.Heholdsthedrawingsclosetohisfaceandcoughs.“God,thesereallystink.”
“That’sthesmellofTeddy’sbedroom.Notallthetimebutsomeofthetime.Carolinesayshewetsthebed.”
“Idon’tthinkthisispee.Lastsummer,wehadajobinBurlingtonCounty?NearthePineBarrens?Someguyhiredustoclearhisvacantlot.Itwasahalfacreoflandgonewild,weedstallerthanyourhead,wewereliterallyhackingwithmachetes.Andtrashlikeyouwouldn’tbelieve—oldclothes,beerbottles,bowlingpins,justtheweirdestjunkyoucanimagine.Buttheworstthingwefoundwasadeaddeer.InthemiddleofJuly.Andwe’rehiredtoclearthelot,soweneedtobagitandgetitoutofthere.Iwon’tgointodetails,Mallory,butitwasawful.AndthethingIwillneverforget—andyouhearthisinmoviesallthetime,butit’strue—thesmellwashorrible.Itsmelledlikethesepictures.”
“WhatshouldIdo?”
“Idon’tknow.”Hetakesthestackofdrawingsandputsthematadistance,likemaybeit’snotsafetobesittingsoclosetothem.“DoyouthinkTeddy’sokay?”
“Ihavenoidea.Itwasreallyweird.Hisskinwasbroiling.AndwhenItouchedhim,hedidn’tfeellikeTeddyanymore.Hefeltlike…somethingelse.”
“Haveyoutoldhisparents?”
“Tellthemwhat?‘IthinkyoursonispossessedbytheghostofAnnieBarrett?’Ialreadytried.Theyfreakedout.”
“Butit’sdifferentnow.Youhaveproof.Allthesenewpictures.It’slikeyousaid:Teddycouldn’thavedrawnthesewithouthelp.”
“ButIcan’tproveAnyahelpedhim.Ican’tproveshe’ssneakingintomycottageandleavingthemonmyrefrigerator.Itsoundscrazy.”
“Thatdoesn’tmeanit’snottrue.”
“Youdon’tknowhisparentslikeIdo.Theywon’tbelieveme.Ineedtokeepdigging,Ineedrealproof.”
We’redrinkingseltzersandsharingalargebowlofmicrowavepopcorn—thebestrefreshmentsIcouldprovideonshortnotice.Ifeelinadequateaboutmyhostingskills,butAdriandoesn’tseemtomind.HeupdatesmeonthesituationwiththeSpringBrookPublicLibrary.Hismotherhasstartedcombingthroughthearchives,butshehasn’tfoundanythingyet.“Shesaysthefilesareamess.Landdeeds,oldnewspapers,nothing’sorganized.Shethinksshe’llneedanotherweek.”
“Ican’twaitanotherweek,Adrian.Thisthing—thisspiritorghost,whateveritis—she’sgettinginsidemycottage.SomenightsIfeelherwatchingme.”
“Howdoyoumean?”
I’veneverreallyfoundthewordstodescribethesensation—thestrangeflutteryfeelingontheperipheryofmysenses,sometimesaccompaniedbyahigh-pitchedwhiningnoise.I’mtemptedtomentiontheresearchexperimentattheUniversityofPennsylvania,toaskAdrianifhe’severheardoftermslike“gazedetection.”ButIdon’twanttosayanythingthatmightsteertheconversationtowardmypast.I’vealreadytoldhimtoomanylies;I’mstillwrestlingwiththebestwaytocomeclean.
“Ihaveanidea,”hesays.“Myparentshaveasmallapartmentovertheirgarage.Noone’susingitrightnow.Maybeyoucouldstaywithusforafewdays.Workhere,butsleepsomeplacesafeuntilwefigureoutwhat’sgoingon.”
ItrytoimaginemyselfexplainingthesituationtotheMaxwells—tellingfive-year-oldTeddythatI’mmovingout,becauseI’mtooscaredtoliveinhisbackyard.
“I’mnotleaving.IwashiredtolookafterTeddy,andI’mgoingtostayhereandlookafterTeddy.”
“Thenletmestayover.”
“You’rejoking.”
“I’llcrashonyourfloor.Nofunnybusiness,justameasureofaddedsecurity.”Ilookathimandit’snearlydarkbutI’mprettysurehe’sblushing.“IftheghostofAnnieBarrettsneaksintoyourcottage,she’lltripovermeandwakemeupandwe’lltalktohertogether.”
“Areyoumakingfunofme?”
“No,Mallory,I’mtryingtohelp.”
“I’mnotallowedtohavesleepovers.It’soneoftheHouseRules.”
Adriandropshisvoicetoawhisper:“I’mupatfive-thirtyeverymorning.Icansneakoutbeforesunrise.BeforetheMaxwellswakeup.They’dhavenoidea.”
AndIwanttosayyes.IwouldlovetokeeptalkingwithAdrianuntillateinthenight.Ireallydon’twanthimtogohome.
Buttheonethingstoppingmeisthetruth.Adrianstillthinkshe’shelpingMalloryQuinn,cross-countryscholarshipathleteandcollegestudent.
Hedoesn’trealizeI’mMalloryQuinn,ex-junkieandtotalscrewup.Hedoesn’tknowthatmysisterisdeadandmymotherwon’tspeaktome,thatI’velostthetwopeopleintheworldwhomeantthemosttome.Andthere’snowayIcantellhim.Icanbarelyadmitthesethingstomyself.
“Comeon,Mallory.Sayyes.I’mworriedaboutyou.”
“Youdon’tknowanythingaboutme.”
“Thentalktome.Tellme.WhatshouldIknow?”
ButIcan’ttellhimnow,notwhenIneedhishelpmorethanever.Ineedtokeepmyhistoryunderwrapsforafewdayslonger.AndthenIswearI’lltellhimeverything.
Hegentlyrestshishandonmyknee.
“Ilikeyou,Mallory.Letmehelpyou.”
Irealizehe’sworkingupthecouragetomakeamove.It’sbeenalongtimesinceanyonehastriedtokissme.AndIwanthimtokissme,butatthesametimeIdon’t,soIjustsitthere,frozen,asheslowlypivotstowardme.
Andthenacrosstheyard,atthebighouse,theslidingglassdoorsopenandCarolineMaxwellstepsoutside,carryingabookandawinebottleandalong-stemmedglass.
Adrianpullsbackandclearshisthroat
“Well,it’slate.”
Istandup.“Yeah.”
Wewalkacrosstheyardandaroundthesideofthebighouse,followingtheflagstonepathtotheMaxwells’two-cardriveway.“Myofferstandsifyouchangeyourmind,”Adriansays.“AlthoughIdon’tthinkyouneedtoworry.”
“Whynot?”
“Well,thisthing—thisspiritorghost,whateversheis—haveyoueverseenher?”
“No.”
“Anddoyoueverhearher?Weirdgroansornoises?Whispersinthemiddleofthenight?”
“Never.”
“Anddoesshemesswithyourstuff?Knockingpicturesoffthewall,slammingdoors,turningonyourlights?”
“No,nothinglikethat.”
“Exactly.She’shadplentyofchancestoscareyou.Andeithershecan’torshewon’t.Ithinkshe’stryingtocommunicate.Ithinktherearemoredrawingscoming,andoncewehavethemall,we’regoingtounderstandwhatshe’stryingtosay.”
Isheright?Ihavenoidea.ButIappreciatethecalmandconfidenceinhisvoice.Hemakesallmyproblemsseemcompletelymanageable.
“Thankyou,Adrian.Thankyouforbelievingme.”
AsI’mheadingbacktomycottage,Carolinecallsouttomefromthepatio.“Iseeyoumadeanewfriend.IhopeIdidn’tscarehimaway.”
IcrosstheyardsoIwon’thavetoyell.“He’soneofyourlandscapers.HeworksforLawnKing.”
“Oh,Iknow,ImetAdrianafewweeksago.Rightbeforeyoumovedin.Teddywasreallyimpressedwithhistractor.”Shetakesasipofherwine.“He’scute,Mallory.Thoseeyes!”
“We’rejustfriends.”
Sheshrugs.“It’snoneofmybusiness.Butfromhere,itseemedlikeyouweresittingprettyclose.”
Ifeelmyselfblushing.“Maybealittleclose?”
Sheshutsherbookandsetsitaside,encouragingmetositdown.“Whatelsedoweknowabouthim?”
Iexplainthathelivesthreeblocksaway,thatheworksforhisfather’sbusiness,thathe’sstudyingengineeringatRutgersUniversityinNewBrunswick.“Helikestoread.Iranintohimatabookstore.AndheseemstoknoweverybodyinSpringBrook.”
“Whataboutwarningsigns?Whatarehisflaws?”
“I’mnotsureI’vefoundanyyet.He’skindofaStarWarsgeek?Imean,itwouldn’tsurprisemeifhedressedupandwenttotheseconventions.”
Carolinelaughs.“Ifthat’shisworstflaw,I’dputonaPrincessLeiacostumeandjumpalloverhim.Whenareyougoingtoseehimagain?”
“I’mnotsure.”
“Maybeyoumakethenextmove.Invitehimtothehouse.You’rewelcometousethepool,haveapicniclunchtogether.I’msureTeddywouldlovetogoswimmingwithhim.”
“Thankyou,”Itellher.“MaybeIwill.”
Wesitinacomfortablesilenceforafewmoments,enjoyingthestillofthenight,andthenCarolinereachesforherbook—anoldpaperbackthat’sdog-earedandfilledwithannotations.ThecovershowsanakedEvestandingintheGardenofEden,reachingfortheapplewhiletheserpentlurksnearby.
“IsthattheBible?”
“No,it’spoetry.ParadiseLost.IusedtoloveitbackincollegebutnowIcan’tgetthroughasinglepage.Idon’thavethepatienceanymore.It’slikemotherhoodruinedmyattentionspan.”
“IhavethefirstHarryPotterinmycottage.Igotitoutofthelibrary,toreadittoTeddy,butyoucanborrowitifyouwant.”
CarolinesmileslikeI’vesaidsomethingamusing.“IthinkI’lljustturnin.It’sgettinglate.Goodnight,Mallory.”
ShegoesinsidethehouseandImakethelongwalkacrosstheyardtomycottage.OnceagainIcanhearfootstepspaddingaroundinHayden’sGlen—moredeerordrunkteenagersordeadpeople,whoknows—butthesounddoesn’tfrightenmeanymore.
BecauseI’vedecidedAdrianisright.
Idon’thavetobeafraidofAnya.
She’snottryingtohurtme.
She’snottryingtoscareme.
She’stryingtotellmesomething.
AndIthinkit’stimetobypassthemiddleman.
15
Thenextmorning,ItellTeddythatAdrianiscomingtothehouseforalunchtimepoolparty,andwegettoworkpreparingamightypicnicfeast:grilledchickensandwiches,pastasalad,fruitsalad,andfresh-squeezedlemonade.TeddyproudlycarrieseverythingouttothepooldeckandIopenthepatioumbrellassowecandineintheshade.
I’vealreadybriefedAdrianontheplan,andhe’sagreedtobabysitTeddywhileMitziandIattempttousethespiritboard.Hearrivespromptlyatnoon,dressedinaswimsuitandaredScarletKnightsT-shirt,andTeddyrunsacrossthepooldecktowelcomehim.EventhoughTeddyislessthanfourfeettall,he’ssomehowfiguredoutawaytoopenthechild-proofgate.Thenheputsonhisma?tred’act,welcomingAdriantoour“restaurant”andescortinghimtoourtable.
Adrianmarvelsatallthefoodondisplay.“IwishIcouldstayhereandeatallday!ButElJefeonlygivesmeanhour.Afterthathe’llcomelookingforme,andthatwon’tbegoodforanyofus.”
“We’lleatfastsowecanswim,”Teddytellshim.“ThenwecanplayMarcoPolo!”
IgiveAdrianatonofinstructions.IrepeatedlyremindhimthatTeddymustwearhisfloaties,thatthewater’stoodeepforhim,evenintheshallowend.I’mtoonervoustoeatanything.Ikeepglancingoveratthecottage,whereMitzihasbeenworkingforthelasthourorso,preparingfor“thegathering.”She’snotpositivetheplanisgoingtowork.Underidealcircumstances,shesays,Teddywouldsitbesideusatthespiritboard.ButsheagreesthathavingTeddysometwentyyardsawaymightbecloseenough,andthat’stheonlyshotI’mwillingtotake.
Teddyisanxioustoswim,soheeatsonlyhalfasandwichandsayshe’snothungryanymore.AndAdrianknowsI’mreadytogetstarted,soheeatsquickly,thenusesasinglearmtoscoopTeddyofftheground.
“Areyouready,Mr.T?”
Teddyshrieksandscreamswithdelight.
Nowforthetrickypart:
“Teddy,wouldyoumindifAdrianwatchedyouforalittlewhile?Ineedtodosomethinginmycottage.”
AsIexpected,Teddygoestotallybananas.Herunstothefarendofthepooldeck,wavinghisarmslikeamaniac,absolutelythrilledthatAdrian—Adrian!!—isgoingtobabysit.
“Pleasewatchhimcarefully.Youcan’tlethimoutofyoursight.Notforasecond.Ifanythinghappenstohim—”
“We’llbefine,”Adrianpromises.“It’syouthatI’mworriedabout.IsthisyourfirsttimeusingaOuijaboard?”
“Firsttimesincemiddleschool.”
“Becareful,okay?Yellifyouneedanything.”
Ishakemyhead.“Don’tcomeanywherenearthecottage.Evenifyouhearusscreaming.Idon’twantTeddytoknowwhatwe’redoing.Ifhetellshisparents,they’llflipout.”
“Butwhatifthere’saproblem?”
“Mitzisaysshe’sdoneahundredofthesethings.Shesaysthey’retotallysafe.”
“WhatifMitzi’swrong?”
Iassurehimeverything’sgoingtobeokaybutI’mnotsureIsoundveryconfident.Mitzihasalreadycalledmycellphonesixtimestoday,alertingmetoimportantprecautionsandrestrictions.She’sforbiddenmefromwearinganyjewelryorperfume.Nomakeup,nohatsorscarves,noopen-toedshoes.She’ssoundedmoreandmoremanicwitheveryconversation.SheexplainedthatsheusesTHCto“unblock”herneuralpathways,andIworryallthecannabishasmadeherparanoid.
TeddycomesrunningbackinourdirectionandslamsintoAdrian’sknees,nearlyknockinghimintothepool.“Areyoureadyyet?Canweswimnow?”
“Youguyshavefun,”Itellthem.“I’llbebackinalittlebit.”
BythetimeIreachthecottage,Mitzihasfinishedherpreparations.There’sastackofreferencebooksonmykitchencounterandshe’shungheavyblackfabricoverthewindowstoblotoutallthesunlight.WhenIopenthefrontdoor,blinkingmyeyestoadjusttothegloom,IcatchherpeekingoutsideandwatchingAdrianpulloffhisT-shirt.“Ohmymymy.WheredidyoufindthishandsomeScarletKnight?”
Shedoesn’tseemtorecognizeAdrianwithouthislandscapinggear,doesn’trealizehe’sthesamemansheprofiledasarapistjustafewweeksearlier.
“Helivesdownthestreet.”
“Andyoutrusthimtowatchthechild?Wewon’tbedisturbed?”
“We’llbefine.”
Iclosethedoor,andit’slikesealingmyselfinsideatomb.Theairisthickwiththewoodsysmellofburningsage;Mitziexplainsthiswillreduceinterferencefromunfriendlyspirits.She’splacedahalfdozenvotivecandlesaroundtheroom,givingusjustenoughlighttoworkby.There’sablackclothdrapedovermykitchentableandthewoodenspiritboardsitsinthemiddle,surroundedbyaringoftinygranularcrystals.“Seasalt,”Mitziexplains.“Kindofanexcessprecaution,butsinceit’syourfirsttimeI’mnottakinganychances.”
Beforewestart,MitziasksifshecanreviewallthedrawingsI’vereceived.AtthispointI’veamassedquiteacollection;earlierthatmorning,I’dawakenedtofindthreenewonesonthefloorofmycottage,asifthey’dbeenslippedunderthefrontdoor.
Mitziseemsparticularlytroubledbythelastdrawing,bytheprofileofthewoman’sface.Shepointstothesilhouetteonthehorizon.“Who’sthispersonwalkingtowardher?”
“Ithinkshe’swalkingawayfromher.”
Mitzishudders,struckbyachill,thenshakesitoff.“Iguesswe’lljusthavetoask.Areyouready?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Doyouhavetogotothebathroom?”
“No.”
“Isyourcellphoneturnedoff?”
“Yes.”
“Thenyou’reready.”
Wetakeseatsonoppositeendsofthetable.There’sathirdchairbetweenus—leftemptyforAnya.Inthedarknessofthecottage,itfeelslikeI’veleftSpringBrookbehind.Orrather,itfeelslikeI’minandoutofSpringBrookatthesametime.Theairisdifferent;it’sthicker,hardertobreathe.IcanstillhearTeddylaughingandAdrianshouting“Cannonball!”andwatersplashingintheswimmingpoolbutallthesesoundsareslightlydistorted,likeI’mhearingthemoverabadphoneconnection.
Mitziplacesasmallheart-shapedplanchetteinthecenteroftheboardandinvitesmetorestmyfingersononeside.Thebottomoftheplanchetteisequippedwiththreesmallwheelsontinybrasscasters;theslightesttouchmakesitrollawayfromme.“Steadynow,youdon’twanttopushit,”Mitzisays.“Letthetooldoallthework.”
Iflexmyfingers,tryingtorelaxthem.“Sorry.”
Mitzirestsherfingersontheoppositesideoftheplanchette.Thenshecloseshereyes.
“Okay,Mallory,I’mgoingtostarttheconversation.I’llmakecontact.Butoncewehaveagoodrapport,I’llletyouaskyourquestions.Fornow,justcloseyoureyesandrelax.”
I’mnervousandalittleself-conscious,butMitzi’svoiceisreassuring.Ifindmyselfmirroringher,matchingherpostureandbreathing.Theincenserelaxesmymusclesandquietsmythoughts.Allmyeverydayworriesandconcerns—Teddy,theMaxwells,running,sobriety—everythingstartsfallingaway.
“Welcome,spirits,”Mitzisays,andIjoltbackinmyseat,startledbythevolumeofhervoice.“Thisisasafespace.Wewelcomeyourpresence.Weinviteyoutojoinusinconversation.”
Outsidethecottage,Icanstillhearthesoundsoftheswimmingpool—thesoundsoffrenziedkickingandsplashing.ButthenIconcentrateharderandmanagetoblockthemout.Irelaxmyfingertips,keepingcontactwiththeplanchettewithoutapplyinganypressure.
“AnnieBarrett,wewishtospeakwithAnnieBarrett,”Mitzisays.“Areyouthere,Annie?Canyouhearus?”
ThelongerIsitinthehardwood-backedchair,themoreI’mawareofallthepointswhereitcontactsmybody—theseatbeneathmybottom,thecrossrailpressingonmyshoulderblades.Istudytheplan-chette,waitingfortheslightestsignsofmovement.Theburningsagecracklesandpops.
“HowaboutAnya?IsthereanAnyapresent?Canyouhearus,Anya?”
MyeyelidsfeelheavyandIallowmyselftoclosethem.IfeellikeI’mbeinghypnotized,orlikeI’vereachedthosefinalmomentsattheendoftheday,whenI’mlyinginawarmbedunderacomfortableblanket,readytodriftofftosleep.
“Areyouthere,Anya?Willyouspeakwithus?”
Noanswer.
Idon’thearthenoisesinthebackyardanymore.AllIhearisMitzi’slaboredbreathing.
“Letushelpyou,Anya.Please.We’relistening.”
Andthensomethingbrushesthebackofmyneck.Asifapersonhaspassedbehindmychair.Iturnandnoone’sthere—butwhenIlookbackattheOuijaboard,Ifeelsomeonebehindme,leaningoverme.Softlonghairfallspastmycheek,grazingmyshoulder.Andthenaninvisibleweightpushesdownonmyhand—agentle,proddingpressure,nudgingtheplanchetteforward.Oneofitswheelsmakesatinysqueak,likethesoftcryofamouse.
“Welcome,spirit!”Mitzismilesatme,andIrealizeshehasnoideawhat’shappening;sheclearlydoesn’tseeorsensewhatever’sbehindme.“Thankyouforansweringourcall!”
Warmbreathticklesthebackofmyneckandgoosebumpsspreadacrossmyskin.There’smorepressureonmyhandandwrist,guidingtheplanchetteacrosstheboardinslowsweepingcircles.
“IsthisAnya?”Mitziasks.“ArewespeakingwithAnya?”
Theboardisillustratedwithastandardalphabetandthenumberszerotonine,andthetopcornershavethewordsYESandNO.Iwatchpassively,spectating,astheplanchettestopsbrieflyattheletterI,thenmovesbacktoGandthenE.Mitzikeepsfourfingersontheplanchette,butshe’sholdingapencilinherfreehandtotranscribetheresultsonanotepad:I-G-E?Sweatbeadsacrossherforehead.Sheglancesatmeandshakesherhead,undaunted.
“Speakslowly,spirit,”shesays.“Wehaveplentyoftime.Wewishtounderstandyou.IsthisAnya?”
TheplanchettemovestoNandthenXandthenO
“You’releaning,”Mitziwhispers,irritated,andIrealizeshe’stalkingtome.
“What?”
“Onthetable.You’repushing,Mallory.”
“It’snotme.”
“Sitbackinyourchair.Situpstraight.”
I’mtooscaredtoarguewithher,totellherthetruth.Idon’twanttointerruptwhatever’shappening.
“Spirit,wewelcomeyourmessage!Wewelcomeanyinformationyou’dliketoshare.”
There’smorepressureonmyhandandtheplanchettemovesfaster,veeringacrosstheboard,stoppingatonerandomletterafteranother,astringofspiritualstatic:L-V-A-J-X-S.Mitziisstillrecordingeverythingbutsheseemsmoreandmoreannoyed.Theresultslooklikealphabetsoup.
Thewoodplanchetteisthrummingwithenergy,liketheracingheartbeatofasmallfrightenedanimal.It’sflyingallovertheboardandMitzicanbarelykeepupwithherone-handedannotations.Theairissothickit’ssuffocating;myeyesarewateringandIdon’tknowwhymysmokedetectorisn’tgoingoff.ThenMitziliftsherfingersandtheplanchettekeepsmoving.Myhandpushesitacrosstheboardanditfliesofftheedgeofthetable,clatteringtothefloor.Mitzistandsup,furious.“Iknewit!Youwerepushing!Thiswholetime,youwerepushing!”
AlltheweightleavesmyhandandsuddenlyI’moutofthetrance.Theroomsnapsbackintofocus.It’stwelveforty-fiveWednesdayafternoonandIcanhearAdrianoutinthebackyardcounting“SixMississippi,SevenMississippi…”andMitziisglaringatme.
“Anyadidthat.Notme.”
“Iwatchedyou,Mallory.Isawyou!”
“EightMississippi!”
“Anyamovedmyhand.Shewasguidingme.”
“Thisisn’taslumberparty.It’snotagame.Thisismylivelihood,Itakeitveryseriously!”
“NineMississippi!”
“You’vewastedmytime.You’vewastedthewholeday!”
AndsuddenlyI’mblinkingintothedaylight.ThedoortomycottagehasswungopenandlittleTeddyisstandingontheporch,peeringintothedarkness.Heraisesafingertohislips,gesturingforustobequiet.Outinthebackyard,Adriancallsout,“TenMississippi!Readyornot,hereIcome!”
Teddyducksinsideandquietlyclosesthedoor.Thenhelooksaroundthecottage,marvelingatthevotivecandlesandtheblacked-outwindowsandmykitchentablewithitsringofseasalt.“Whatareyouplaying?”
“Honey,thisiscalledaspiritboard,”Mitzisays,invitinghimtotakeacloserlook.“Intherighthands,it’satoolforcommunication.Tospeakwiththedead.”
Teddylookstomeforconfirmation,likehecan’tbelieveMitziistellingthetruth.“Really?”
“No,no,no.”I’malreadyoutofmychairandguidinghimbacktothedoor.“It’sjustatoy.Justagame.”ThelastthingIneedisTeddytellinghisparentsaboutaséance.“Wewerejustpretending.It’snotreal.”
“It’sveryreal,”Mitzisays.“Ifyourespectitspowers.Ifyoutakeitseriously.”
IopenthedoorandseeAdrianacrosstheyard,searchingforTeddyinthetreesalongHayden’sGlen.“Overhere,”Icallout.
HecomesjoggingoverandTeddydartspastmylegs,sprintingacrossthegrass,stillcaughtupintheirgameofhide-and-seek.
“Sorryaboutthat,”Adriansays.“Itoldhimtostayonthepooldeck.Ihopehedidn’truinanything.”
“Itwasalreadyruined,”Mitzisays.She’sgatheringherthings,snuffingoutcandlesandcollectingtraysofincense.“Therearenospiritsinthiscottage.Thereneverwere.Thisisjustastoryshe’smadeuptogetattention.”
“Mitzi,thatisnottrue!”
“I’veusedthisboardahundredtimes.It’sneveractedthisway.”
“Isweartoyou—”
“SweartoyourScarletKnighthere,okay?Cryonhisshoulderandmaybehe’llfeelsorryforyou.Butdon’taskmetowasteanymoretime.”
Sheshovesherbooksintoherbagandthenstormspastme,nearlytrippingasshedescendsthestairsofmycottage.
“Whatjusthappened?”Adrianasks.
“Anyawashere,Adrian.Shewasinsidethecottage.Isweartoyou,Icouldfeelherstandingoverme.Movingmyarm.Butthelettersweregibberish.Wecouldn’tspellanything.AndthenrightinthemiddleMitzilosthershit.Shestartedscreamingatme.”
WewatchfromtheporchasMitziwobblesacrossthelawn,veeringleftandthenovercompensatingtotheright,unabletomaintainastraightline.
“Issheallright?”Adrianasks.
“Well,she’sprettyhigh,butsupposedlythat’spartofherprocess.”
AdejectedTeddycomeswalkingacrosstheyard.Heseemstounderstandthatsomethingbadhashappened,thatthegrown-upsareupset.Inahopefulvoice,heasks,“Doesanyonewanttochaseme?”
Adrianapologizesforleavingbutsayshehastogo.“IneedtogetbackorElJefewillflip.”
“Icanchaseyou,”ItellTeddy.“Justgiveusaminute.”
Clearlythisisn’ttheanswerTeddywants.Hetrudgesacrosstheyardtothepoolpatio,unhappywithbothofus.
“Areyougoingtobeallright?”Adrianasks.
“I’mfine.IjusthopeTeddydoesn’tsayanythingtohisparents.”
ButI’mprettysurehewill.
16
Afterthepoolparty,TeddygoesuptohisbedroomforQuietTimeandIstaydownstairsintheden.MaybeIdon’twanttoknowwhathe’sdoingupthere.MaybethingswillbebetterformeifIstopaskingsomanyquestions.
IntheafternoonwetakealongwalkintheEnchantedForest.WefollowYellowBrickRoadtoDragonPassanddowntoRoyalRiver,andItrytospinanewstoryaboutPrincessMalloryandPrinceTeddy.ButallPrinceTeddywantstodiscussarespiritboards:Dotheyneedbatteries?Howdotheyfindthedeadperson?Cantheyfindanydeadperson?CantheyfindAbrahamLincoln?Ikeepsaying“Idon’tknow”andhopethathe’llloseinterest.Insteadheaskshowmuchitcoststobuyaspiritboard,ifit’spossibletomakeone.
CarolinegetshomefromworkatherusualtimeandIhurryoutforalongrun,eagertogetawayandburnoffstress.It’snearlyseveno’clockwhenIgethome,andTedandCarolinearewaitingonmyfrontporch.AndassoonasIseetheirfaces,Iknowthattheyknow.
“Goodworkout?”Tedasks.
Histoneislight,likehe’sdeterminedtokeepthingspleasant.
“Prettygood.Almostninemiles.”
“Ninemiles,really?That’sremarkable.”
ButCarolinehasnointerestinmakingsmalltalk.“Doyouhaveanythingyouwanttotellus?”
IfeellikeI’vebeendraggedintotheprincipal’sofficeandforcedtoemptymypockets.AllIcanthinktodoisplaydumb:“What’swrong?”
Shepushesasheetofpaperintomyhands.“Ifoundthisdrawingbeforedinner.Teddydidn’twanttoshowme.Hetriedtohideit.ButIinsisted.Nowyoulookatthispictureandtellmewhyweshouldn’tfireyouonthespot.”
Tedrestsahandonherarm.“Let’snotoverreact.”
“Don’tpatronizeme,Ted.We’repayingMallorytowatchourchild.Andshelefthimwiththegardener.SoshecouldplayOuijaboard.Withthepotheadwholivesnextdoor.HowamIoverreacting?”
Thedrawinglooksnothinglikethedarksinisterpicturesthatwereleftonmyporchandrefrigerator.It’sjustabunchofTeddy’sstickfigurecharacters—meandanangrywomanwho’sobviouslyMitzi,gatheredaroundarectanglecoveredinlettersandnumbers.
“Iknewit!”
Carolinenarrowshereyes.“Knewwhat?”
“Anyawashere!Attheséance!Mitziaccusedmeofpushingthepointerthing,butitwasAnya!Shewasmovingit.Teddysawher.Thepictureprovesit!”
Carolineisbewildered.SheturnstoTedandheraiseshishands,pleadingwithustosettledown.“Let’salltakeadeepbreath,okay?Let’sunpackwhatwe’rehearing.”
Butofcoursethey’reconfused.Theyhaven’tseeneverythingI’veseen.They’llneverbelievemewithoutseeingthepictures.Iopenthedoortomycottageandurgethemtofollowmeinside.IgetoutthestackofdrawingsandIarrangethemonmybedinagrid.“Lookatthese.Yourecognizethepaper,right?FromTeddy’ssketchpads?LastMondayIfoundthefirstthreedrawingsonmyporch.IaskedTeddyandhesaidhehadnothingtodowiththem.Thenextnight,IwentouttodinnerwithRussell.Thedoortomycottagewaslocked.ButwhenIcamehome,therewerethreemoredrawingsonmyrefrigerator.SoIhidacamerainTeddy’sbedroom—”
“Youdidwhat?”Carolineasks.
“Ababymonitor.Fromyourbasement.IputthecamerainhisroomduringQuietTimeandIwatchedhimdraw.”Ipointtothenextthreepictures.“Iwatchedhimmakethese.Hewasusinghisrighthand.”
Carolineshakesherhead.“I’msorry,Mallory,butwearetalkingaboutafive-year-oldboy.WeallagreethatTeddy’sgiftedbutthere’snowayhe’scapable—”
“You’renotunderstandingme.Teddydidn’tdrawthesepictures.Anyadid.ThespiritofAnnieBarrett.She’svisitingTeddyinhisbedroom.She’susinghimlikeapuppet.Somehowshe’scontrollinghisbodyandshedrawsthesepicturesandshebringsthemtomycottage.Becauseshe’stellingmesomething.”
“Mallory,slowdown,”Tedsays.
“WetriedtheséancesoAnyawouldleaveTeddyalone.Iwantedtocommunicatewithher.Directly.KeepTeddyoutofit.Butsomethingwentwrong.Itdidn’twork.”
Istoptopourmyselfaglassofwaterandgulpitdown.“Iknowitsoundscrazy.Butalltheproofyouneedisrighthere.Lookatthesepictures.They’recomingtogether,they’retellingastory.Helpmemakesenseofit,please.”
Carolinesinksintoachairandburiesherfaceinherhands.Tedmanagestostaycomposed,likehe’sdeterminedtoresolvetheconversation.“Wearecommittedtohelpingyou,Mallory.I’mgladyou’rebeingopenandhonestwithus.Butbeforewemakesenseofthesepictures,weneedtoagreeonacoupleoffacts,okay?Andthebiggestoneisthatghostsdon’texist.”
“Youcan’tprovetheydon’t.”
“Becauseyoucan’tproveanegative!Lookattheflipside,Mallory—youhavenoproofthattheghostofAnnieBarrettisreal.”
“Thesepicturesaremyproof!They’reonTeddy’ssketchpadpaper.Ifhedidn’tdrawthem—ifAnniedidn’tmagicallydeliverthemtomycottage—howdidtheygethere?”
IseethatCaroline’sattentionhasdriftedtothesmallendtablebesidemybed,whereIkeepmyphone,mytabletcomputer,myBible—andtheblanksketchpadthatTeddygavemeamonthago,whenIfirststartedworkingfortheMaxwells.
“Ohcomeon,”Itellher.“YouthinkI’mdrawingthem?”
“Ineversaidthat,”Carolinesays.ButIcanseehermindworking,Icanseeshe’sprobingthetheory.
Afterall:Wasn’tIpronetomemorylapses?
Didn’taboxofTeddy’spencilsgomissinglastweek?
“Let’saskyourson,”Itellthem.“Hewon’tlie.”
ItonlytakesaminutetocrosstheyardandgetupstairstoTeddy’sbedroom.He’salreadybrushedhisteethandchangedintohisfiretruckpajamas.He’sdownonthefloornexttohisbed,buildingaLincolnLoghouseandfillingitsbedroomswithplasticfarmanimals.We’veneverconfrontedhimlikethis—allthreeofusenteringhisbedroom,ampedupandstressedout.Immediately,heknowssomethingiswrong.
Tedwalksovertothebedandtousleshishair.“Hey,bigguy.”
“Weneedtoaskyousomethingimportant,”Carolinesays.“Andweneedyoutoanswerwiththetruth.”Shetakesthepicturesandfansthemoutonthefloor.“Didyoudrawthese?”
Heshakeshishead.“No.”
“Hedoesn’trememberdrawingthem,”Itellher.“Becausehegoesintoakindoftrance.Likeatwilightsleep.”
Carolinekneelsbesidehersonandstartsplayingwithaplasticgoat,tryingtokeepthetonelight.“DidAnyahelpyoumakethesedrawings?Didshetellyouwhattodo?”
I’mstaringatTeddy,tryingtogethimtomakeeyecontact,butthekidwon’tlookatme.“IknowAnyaisn’treal,”hetellshisparents.“Anyaisjustamake-believefriend.Anyacouldneverdrawrealpictures.”
“Ofcourseshecouldn’t,”Carolinesays.Sheputsherarmaroundhisshoulderandsqueezeshim.“Youareabsolutelyright,sweetie.”
AndIstarttofeellikeI’mgoingcrazy.It’slikewe’reallwillfullyignoringtheobvious,likewe’veallsuddenlydecidedtoagreethat2+2=5.
“Butyouallsmellsomethinginthisbedroom,right?Lookaroundyou.Thewindowsareopen,thecentralairisrunning,hisbedsheetsareclean,Iwashedthemtoday,Iwashthemeveryday,butthere’salwaysabadsmellinhere.Likesulphur,likeammonia.”Carolineshootsmeawarningwithhereyesbutshe’smissingthepoint.“It’snotTeddy’sfault!It’sAnya!It’sherscent!It’sthesmellofrot,it’s—”
“Stop,”Tedtellsme.“Juststoptalking,okay?Weunderstandyou’reupset.Wehearyou,allright?Butifwe’regoingtofixthisproblem,weneedtodealwithfacts.Absolutetruths.AndI’mbeinghonestwithyou,Mallory:Idonotsmellanodorinthisroom.IthinkTeddy’sbedroomsmellsperfectlyfine.”
“Me,too,”Carolinesays.“There’snothingwrongwiththewayhisbedroomsmells.”
AndnowI’mcertainI’mgoingcrazy.
IfeellikeTeddyismyonlyhopebutIstillcan’tgethimtolookatme.“Comeon,Teddy,wetalkedaboutthis.Youknowthesmell,youtoldmeitwasAnya.”
Hejustshakeshisheadandbiteshislowerlipandsuddenlyheexplodesintotears.“Iknowshe’snotreal,”hetellshismother.“Iknowshe’smake-believe.Iknowshe’sjustpretend.”
Carolineputsherarmaroundhim.“Ofcourseyoudo,”shesays,tryingtocomforthim,andthensheturnstome.“Ithinkyoushouldgonow.”
“Wait—”
“No.We’vetalkedenough.Teddyneedstogotobed,andyouneedtogobacktoyourcottage.”
AndwithallofTeddy’stears,Irealizeshe’sprobablyright,there’snothingelseIcandoforhim.IgatherupthepicturesandleavethebedroomandTedfollowsmedownstairstothefirstfloor.
“He’slyingtoyou,”ItellTed.“He’ssayingwhatyouwanttohear,sohedoesn’tgetintotrouble.Buthedoesn’tbelieveit.Herefusedtolookatme.”
“Maybehewasafraidtolookatyou,”Tedsays.“Maybehewasafraidyou’dgetangryifhetoldthetruth.”
“Sowhathappensnow?AreyouandCarolinegoingtofireme?”
“No,Mallory,ofcoursenot.Ithinkwejusttakethenighttocooloff.Trytoclearourheads.Doesthatsoundgood?”
Doesit?Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkIwanttoclearmyhead.I’mstillconvincedthatI’mrightandthey’rewrong,thatI’vecollectedmostofthepuzzlepiecesandnowIjustneedtoassembletheminthecorrectorder.
Tedputshisarmsaroundme.
“Listen,Mallory:You’resafehere.You’renotinanydanger.Iwillneverletanythingbadhappentoyou.”
AndI’mstillsweatyfrommyrun—I’msureIsmellterrible—butTedpullsmecloserandsmoothsthebackofmyhairwithhishand.Andinjustafewmomentsitgoesfromcomfortingtoweird;Icanfeelhiswarmbreathticklingmyneck,IcanfeeleveryinchofhimpressingagainstmeandI’mnotsurehowtobreakfreeofhisgrip.
ButthenCarolinecomesstompingdownthehallway.TedspringsawayandImoveintheoppositedirection,slippingoutthebackdoorsoIwon’thavetoseehiswifeagain.
Idon’tknowwhatjusthappenedbutIthinkTedisright.
Someonedefinitelyneedsanighttocooloff.
17
WhenIreturntomycottage,there’satwo-wordtextonmyphonefromAdrian:goodnews.Icallhimbackandheanswersonthefirstring.
“Thelibraryfoundsomething.”
“SomethinglikeaphotoofAnnieBarrett?”
“Better.Abookofherpaintings.”Icanhearothervoicesinthebackground,menandwomenlaughing,likeI’vereachedAdrianinabar.
“Doyouwanttomeetup?”
“Yes,butIneedyoutocomehere.Myparents’house.They’rehostingadinnerandIpromisedtoeatwiththeirfriends.Butifyoucomeover,I’llbeoffthehook.”
I’mstillinmyrunningclothes,Ihaven’tdoneanyofmystretches,andafter8.78milesIaminsanelythirstyandhungry—butIsayI’llbethereinthirtyminutes.Onedaywithoutstretchingwon’tkillme.
Ichuganotherglassofwater,fixaquicksandwich,andhopintheshower.Threeminuteslater,I’msteppingintooneofCaroline’sprettiestoutfits—amint-greenminidresswithawhitebaby’sbreathfloralprint.ThenIhurryovertotheFlowerCastle.
Adriananswersthedoorinsteadofhisparents,andI’mrelieved.Hisclothesarecountryclubcasual—apinkpoloshirttuckedintobeltedkhakipants.
“Perfecttiming,”hesays.“Wejustputoutdessert.”Thenheleanscloserandwhispers:“Bytheway,myparentswanttoknowwhywe’resointerestedinAnnieBarrett.SoIsaidyoufoundsomesketchesinyourcottage,hiddenunderthefloorboards.Isaidyou’retryingtofigureoutifAnniedrewthem.Alittlewhitelieseemedeasierthantellingthetruth.”
“Iunderstand,”Itellhim,andIreallydo,morethanheknows.
TheFlowerCastleismuchbiggerthantheMaxwells’housebutinsideitfeelssmallerandwarmerandmoreintimate.Alltheroomsaredecoratedwithmission-stylefurniture;thewallsareadornedwithfamilyportraitsandmapsofCentralandSouthAmerica,anditfeelslikehisfamilyhaslivedhereforyears.Wepassanuprightpianoandacuriocabinetfullofpottery,andthereareleafygreenhouseplantsgrowingineverywindow.IwanttostopandlingerovereverythingbutAdrianmarchesintoanoisydiningroomwithadozenmiddle-agedpeople.They’regatheredaroundatablethat’scoveredinwineglassesanddessertplates.Therearefivedifferentconversationshappeningatonce,and
“Everybody,thisisMallory,”hesays.“She’sworkingasanannythissummer,forafamilyonEdgewoodStreet.”
Attheheadofthetable,Ignacioraiseshisglassinatoast,sloshingredwineonhishandandwrist.“Andshe’saBigTenathlete!She’sadistancerunnerforPennState!”
ThesepeoplereactlikeI’mSerenaWilliamsfreshoffmylatestvictoryatWimbledon.Adrian’smother,Sofia,iscirclingthetablewithabottleofMalbec,toppingoffglasses,andsherestsasympathetichandonmyshoulder.“Pardonmyhusband,”shesays.“He’salittleachispado.”
“Shemeanstipsy,”Adriantranslates,andthenhepointsaroundthediningroom,introducingmetoeveryone.Therearetoomanynamesformetoremember—thechiefoftheSpringBrookFireDepartmentisthere,alongwithalesbiancouplewhorunthebakeryintown,andacoupleofneighborsfromdowntheblock.
“Iunderstandyou’rehereforalibrarybook,”Sofiasays.
“Yes,butIdon’twanttointerrupt—”
“Please,I’veknownthesepeoplethirtyyears.Wehavenothinglefttosaytoeachother!”Herfriendslaugh,andSofiagrabsafilefolderoffthecounter.“Let’sgotalkintheyard.”
SheopensaslidingglassdoorandIfollowheroutsidetothemostextravagantbackyardgardenI’veeverseen.It’sthemiddleofJulyandeverything’sblooming:bluehydrangea,brightredzinnia,yellowdaylilies,andahostofexoticflowersI’veneverseenbefore.Therearebenchesandstepping-stonesandarchwaysdrapedwithpurplemorningglories;therearebirdbathsandbrickpathsandrowsofsunflowerstallerthanmyhead.Inthecenterofeverythingisacedargazebowithatableandchairs,overlookingakoipondwithasoftlysplashingwaterfall.IwishIhadmoretimetoadmireeverything—IfeellikeI’mwalkingthroughDisneyland—butIcantellthatforAdrianandSofia,it’sjusttheirbackyard,it’snobigdeal.
WemoveintothegazeboandAdrianusesanapponhisphonetobrightenthepartylightsstrungacrosstheceiling.ThenwealltakeseatsandSofiagetsdowntobusiness.
“Thisisadifficultprojecttoresearch.Thefirstchallengeisthatthestory’sveryold,sonothing’sontheinternet.ThesecondchallengeisthatAnnieBarrettdiedrightafterWorldWarII,soallthenewspaperswerestillobsessedwithEurope.”
“Howaboutlocalnews?”Iask.“DidSpringBrookhavesomekindofdailypaper?”
“TheHerald,”shesays,nodding.“Theypublishedfrom1910to1991butwelosttheirmicrofilminawarehousefire.Everythingwentupinsmoke.”Shegesturespoof!andIglimpseatinytattooonherleftforearm:aslenderlong-stemmedrose,tastefulandelegant,butI’mstillsurprised.“Icheckedthelibraryforphysicalcopiesbutnoluck.Nothingbefore1963.SoIfiguredI’dreachedadeadend,butoneofmycoworkerspointedmetothelocalauthorsshelf.Anytimesomeoneintownpublishesabook,weusuallyorderacopy.Justtobenice.Mostlyit’smysteriesandmemoirs,butsometimesit’slocalhistory.Andthat’swhereIfoundthis.”
Shereachesinsidethefolderforaveryslendervolume—it’smoreofapamphlet,really,thirty-somepageswithacardstockcoverandboundwiththick,rustedindustrialstaples.Thetitlepagelookslikeitwasproducedonanold-fashionedmanualtypewriter:
THECOLLECTEDWORKSOFANNEC.BARRETT(1927–1948)
“Itwasn’tinourcomputersystem,”Sofiacontinues.“Idon’tthinkthisbookhascirculatedinfiftyyears.”
Iholdthebookclosetomyface.Ithasamusty,pungentodor—likeitspagesarerotting.“Whyisitsosmall?”
“Hercousinself-publishedit.Justasmallrunforfriendsandfamily,andIguesssomeonedonatedacopytothelibrary.There’sanotefromGeorgeBarrettonthefirstpage.”
Thecoverfeelsoldandbrittle,likeadriedhusk,readytocrackbetweenmyfingers.Iopenitcarefullyandbegintoread:
InMarchof1946,mycousinAnneCatherineBarrettleftEuropetobeginanewlifehereintheUnitedStates.AsagestureofChristiankindness,mywifeJeanandIinvited“Annie”tolivewithourfamily.JeanandIdonothaveanysiblings,andwelookedforwardtohavinganotheradultrelativeinourhousehold—someonetohelpraiseourthreeyoungdaughters.AnniewasjustnineteenyearsoldwhenshearrivedintheUnitedStates.Shewasverybeautifulbutlikemanyyoungwomenalsoveryfoolish.JeanandImadecountlesseffortstointroduceAnnieintoSpringBrooksociety.I’manaldermanforthetowncouncilandIalsoserveonthevestryofSt.Mark’sChurch.MywifeJeanisveryactiveinthelocalWoman’sClub.Ourclosestfriendswelcomedmycousinintothecommunitywithmanykindandthoughtfulinvitations,butAnnieturnedthemalldown.Shewassillyandsolitaryanddescribedherselfasanartist.Shespentherfreetimepaintinginhercottage,orwalkingbarefootintheforestbehindourhouse.SometimesIwouldspotherdownonherhandsandknees,likeananimal,studyingcaterpillarsorsniffingatflowersJeancompiledashortlistofdailychoresforAnnietocomplete,inreturnforherroomandboard.Mostdays,thesechoreswentunfinished.Annieshowednointerestinbeingpartofourfamily,partofourcommunity,orevenpartofthegreatAmericanexperiment.IhadmanydisagreementswithAnnieaboutherchoices.Manytimes,IwarnedAnniethatshewasbehavingirresponsiblyorevenimmorally,thatallofherbaddecisionswouldcatchupwithher.Itakenosatisfactioninknowingthatcircumstanceshaveprovenmecorrect.OnDecember9,1948,mycousinwasattackedandabductedfromthesmallguestcottageatthebackofourproperty.AsIwritethesewordsnearlyafullyearlater,Annieispresumeddeadbythelocalpolice,andIfearherbodyisburiedsomewhereinthethreehundredacresbehindmyhome.Intheaftermathofthistragedy,manyofmySpringBrookneighborshavereachedouttooffertheirprayersandfellowship.Ihavecompiledthisbookasatokenofappreciationfortheirsupport.Despitemydifferenceswithmycousin,Ialwaysbelievedshehadacreativespark,andthisvolumeisamemorialtoherslightachievements.CollectedhereareallthefinishedpaintingsleftbyAnneCatherineBarrettatthetimeofherdemise.Whenpossible,Ihaveincludedtitlesanddatesofcomposition.Maythesepaintingsstandasatributetoasadandtragiclifecutshort.GeorgeBarrettNovember1949SpringBrook,NewJersey
Istartturningthepages.Thebookisfilledwithblurryblack-and-whitephotographsofAnnie’scanvases.PaintingscalledDaffodilsandTulipshavewigglyrectanglesthatdon’tlookanythinglikeflowers.AndapaintingcalledFoxfeaturesdiagonallinesslashedacrossthecanvas.There’snothingremotelyrealisticinthebook—justabstractshapesandsplattersandblobsofpaint,likesomethingoffthespin-artmachinesatachurchcarnival.
It’samassivedisappointment.“Theselooknothinglikethedrawingsinmycottage.”
“Butpaintingisonethinganddrawingisanother,”Sofiasays.“Someartistsusedifferentstylesfordifferentmediums.Ortheyjustliketomixitup.Oneofmyfavorites,GerhardRichter,hespenthiswholecareermovingbetweenveryabstractandveryrealisticpaintings.MaybeAnnielikedboth.”
“Butifthat’strue,thebookdoesn’tansweranything.”
“Ah,butwait,”Sofiasays.“There’sstillonemorethingIneedtoshowyou.YesterdayIcalledovertothecourthouse,becausethat’swheretheykeeptheoldwills.They’reamatterofpublicrecord,anyonecanviewthem.Andyou’dbeamazedbythethingspeoplearewillingtoshareafterthey’redead.”Sheopensthefolderandremovesapairofblurryphotocopies.“Ididn’texpectAnnieBarretttohaveawill—shediedmuchtooyoung—butIdidfindthelastwillandtestamentofGeorgeBarrett.Hepassedin1974andlefteverythingtohiswife,Jean.Andhere’swherethingsgetreallyinteresting.JeanretiredtoFloridaandliveduntil1991.Andwhenshepassed,sheleftmostofherestatetoherdaughters.Butshealsoleftfiftythousanddollarstoaniece,DoloresJeanCampbellofAkron,Ohio.Now,doyouknowwhyIfindthatsurprising?”
AndatonceIunderstandwhythebookissucharevelation.“BecauseJeanandGeorgedidn’thavesiblings.Georgesaidsoinhisintroduction.”
“Exactly!Sowhoisthismysterynieceandwheredidshecomefrom?Iwonderedtomyself:WhatifJeanthinksofthisgirlasaniece,butshe’sreallythechildofacousin?Whatifshe’saconsequenceofAnnie’s‘irresponsible’and‘immoral’behavior?Istartedwondering:Maybethere’smoretothestorythanGeorgeislettingon.MaybeJeanfeltsomeobligationtolookafterthegirl.”
Idothearithmeticinmyhead.“IfDoloreswasbornin1948,shewouldn’tbethatold.Shecouldstillbealive.”
“Shecouldindeed.”Sofiapushesasmallsquareofpaperacrossthetable.Ithasthename“DoloresJeanCampbell”andaten-digitphonenumber.“That’stheareacodeforAkron,Ohio.She’slivinginaretirementcommunitycalledRestHaven.”
“Youtalkedtoher?”
“Anddenyyouthethrillofcallingthisnumber?Notachance,Mallory.ButI’mverycurioustoknowwhoanswersthephone.I’dlovetohearwhatyoufindout.”
“Thankyou.Thisisincredible.”
Frominsidethehouse,there’sasoundofbreakingglass,followedbyuproariouslaughter.Sofiaglancesatherson.“Ithinkyourfather’stellingdirtyjokesagain.Ishouldgetinsidebeforeheembarrassesme.”Shestandsup.“Buttellmeagainwhyyou’reinterestedinallofthis?”
“Malloryfoundsomepicturesinhercottage,”Adriansays.“Stashedunderherfloor.Wealreadywentoverthis.”
Sofialaughs.“Mijo,youwereahorribleliaratagefourandyou’reevenworsenow.ThismorningyousaidMalloryfoundthepicturesinacloset.”
“Underthefloorofacloset,”Adrianinsists.
Sofiagivesmealookthatsays:Doyoubelievethiskid?“Ifyouguysdon’twanttotellme,that’sfine.ButI’mgoingtosuggestyoubothbecareful.Ifyoustartpokingyournosesintofamilysecrets,someonemaybitethemoff.”
I’mtemptedtocallDoloresimmediately,butit’slate,nearlyteno’clock,andAdriansuggestsI’llgetbetterresultsinthemorning.“She’sprobablyasleep.”
Iknowhe’sright,I’mjustimpatient.IneedinformationandIneeditquickly.ItellhimaboutmylatestconfrontationwiththeMaxwells.“IshowedthemAnya’sdrawings.Iexplainedhowthepictureskeepturningupinmycottage.Buttheydon’tbelieveme,Adrian.AndImeanofcoursetheydon’tbelieveme!Itsoundscrazy.Iknowitsoundscrazy.CarolineactedlikemaybeI’mdrawingthepictures,likeI’mmakingupthewholestorytogetattention.”
“We’regoingtoproveyou’retellingthetruth,”Adriansays.“Butfirstweshouldgotothehouseandgetsomechurros.”
“Why?”
“Becausethey’reawesome,andtheywillmakeyouforgetaboutallyourproblems.Trustme.”
Wereturntothehouseandfindthedinnerpartyhaskickedintoahighergear.There’sTop40onthestereo,everyonehasmovedintothelivingroom,andIgnacioseemsmoreachispadothanever.He’sdemonstratingthepasodoble,adanceheclaimstohavemasteredinhisyouth,andSofiaishissurprisinglygamepartner,shakingherskirtsandfollowinghislead.TheirguestsareclappingandcheeringandAdrianjustshakeshishead,embarrassedandexasperated.“Thishappenseverytimetheyhavepeopleover,”hesays.“Mydad’ssuchaham.”
Wegrabtwocansofseltzerfromtherefrigerator.ThenAdrianfillsaplatewithchurros,drizzlesthemwithchocolatesauce,andbringsmeoutsideforawalkingtourofthegarden.Hesayshisfather’sbeenworkingonitforthirtyyears,thatit’shisownpersonalVersailles.
“What’saVersailles?”
“Likethepalace?InFrance?”
HeseemssurprisedthatI’veneverheardofit,butwhatcanItellyou?PeopleinSouthPhillydon’tspendalotoftimetalkingaboutFrenchroyalty.Still,Idon’twanttolooklikeanidiot,soIshovelonmorelies.
“Oh,Versailles,”Isay,laughing.“Imisheardyou.”
WewanderthetrailsandAdrianintroducesmetoallthegarden’ssecrets:thefamilyofcardinalsnestinginthesourcherrytree.AsmallalcoveforprivateprayerwithashrinetotheVirginMary.Andawoodenbenchonthebanksofthekoipond,nexttothewaterfall.Westopandshareourchurroswithsomeofthefish.Theremustbesevenoreightofthem,bobbingopenmouthedonthesurfaceofthewater.
“Thisisareallyspecialplace.”
Adrianshrugs.“I’dbehappierwithaswimmingpool.LiketheMaxwellshave.”
“No,thisisbetter.You’relucky.”
Ifeelhishandonmywaist,andwhenIturntolookhekissesme.Hislipstastesweet,likecinnamonandchocolate,andIwanttopullhimcloser,Iwanttokisshimagain.
ButfirstIneedtotellhimthetruth.
Iputmyhandonhischest.
“Wait.”
Hestops.
Helooksintomyeyes,waiting.
AndI’msorrybutIdon’tknowhowtotellhim.Thewholesceneisjusttooperfect:Allthesoftlittlelightsaretwinkling,thewaterfallsoundslikemusic,andthesmelloftheflowersisintoxicating—andit’sanotherperfectmomentIcan’tbringmyselftoruin.
BecauseclearlyIampastthepointofnoreturn.LyingtoAdrianwasbadenough.ButnowI’veliedtohisparentsandevenhisparents’friends.Oncethesepeoplelearnthetruth,there’snowaythey’lleveracceptme.MyrelationshipwithAdriandoesn’tstandachance.We’relikeoneofTeddy’splaytimesoapbubbles—magical,buoyant,lighterthanair—anddoomedtoexplode.
Herealizessomething’swrongandpullsback.
“Sorryaboutthat.IthinkImisreadthemoment.ButifItalklongenoughandfastenoughwecanjustactlikeitdidn’thappen,right?”Hestandsup,lookingsheepish.“We’vegotPing-Ponginthegarage.Doyoufeellikeplaying?”
Itakehishandandpullhimbacktowardthebench.Thistime,Ikisshim.Iputmyhandonhisheartandleanintohisbodysothere’snomistakinghowIfeel.
“No,”Itellhim.“Idon’twanttoleavehere.”
ButIdoleave,eventually.
Thedinnerpartybreaksuparoundtenthirty.Fromourbenchintheshadowsofthegarden,wecanhearcardoorsslammingandenginesstartingandguestspullingoutofthegrandcirculardriveway.
AdrianandIstayinthegardenpastmidnight.EventuallyallthelightsinsidethehouseblinkoffanditseemshisparentshavegonetobedandIdecideIshouldprobablygetgoing.
Adrianofferstowalkmehome.Itellhimit’snotnecessary,thatit’sjustafewblocks,butheinsists.
“Thisisn’tSouthPhilly,Mallory.ThestreetsofSpringBrookgetprettyroughafterdark.”
“Ihaveastungunonmykeychain.”
“That’snomatchforadrunkmombehindthewheelofaminivan.I’dfeelmuchbetterifIwalkedyouhome.”
Theneighborhoodissilent.Thestreetsareempty,thehousesaredark.Andassoonasweleavethegarden,Ifeellikeaspellhasbeenbroken.AstheMaxwells’housecomesintoview,I’mremindedofallmyoldproblems,I’mremindedofthepersonIreallyam.AndonceagainIfeelcompelledtobehonest.MaybeIcan’tmusterthecouragetotellhimeverything—nottonight,notyet.ButIwanttosayatleastonethingthat’strue.
“Ihaven’thadaboyfriendinawhile.”
Heshrugs.“I’veneverhadaboyfriend.”
“I’mjustsaying,weshouldn’trushintoanything.Untilwegettoknoweachotherbetter.Let’stakethingsslowly.”
“Whatareyoudoingtomorrownight?”
“I’mserious,Adrian.Youmightlearnsomethingsaboutmethatyoudon’tlike.”
Hetakesmyhandandsqueezesit.“Iwanttolearneverythingaboutyou.IwanttochangemymajortoMalloryQuinnandlearnasmuchasIcan.”
Ohyouhavenoidea,Ithinktomyself.Youreallyhavenoidea.
HeasksifI’veevereatenatBridgetFoy’s,hisfavoriterestaurantinallofPhiladelphia.IsayIhaven’tbeentoPhillyinsixweeksandI’minnohurrytogetback.“ThenhowaboutPrinceton?Thetown,nottheuniversity.Theyhaveareallygoodtapasplace.Doyouliketapas?ShouldIgetatable?”
Bythispointwe’vecrossedtheMaxwells’yardandwe’restandingoutsidemycottageandofcourseIsayyes,ItellhimIcanbereadybyfivethirty.
Andthenwe’rekissingagainandifIclosemyeyesit’seasytopretendwe’rebackinthecastlegardens,thatI’mMalloryQuinnCross-CountrySuperstarwithapromisingfutureandnoworriesintheworld.I’mleaningagainstthesideofmycottage.Adrianhasonehandinmyhairandanotherhandmovingupmyleg,slidingundermydress,andIdon’tknowhowI’mgoingtotellhimthetruth,Ireallydon’t.
“Thisisnottakingthingsslow,”Itellhim.“Youneedtogohomenow.”
Heliftshishandsfrommybody,stepsbackward,andtakesadeepbreath.“I’llbebacktomorrow.”
“Fivethirty,”Itellhim.
“Seeyouthen.Goodnight,Mallory.”
Istandontheporchandwatchhimwalkacrosstheyard,vanishingintotheblacknessofthenight,andIknowImusttellhimthetruth.IdecideIwilltellhimeverythingoverdinnertomorrowinPrinceton.Soevenifhe’supset,hewon’tbeabletoleaveme,he’llbeforcedtodrivemehome.Andinthattime,maybeIcanconvincehimtogivemeasecondchance.
ThenIunlockthedoortomycottage,turnonthelight,anddiscoverTedMaxwelllyinginmybed.
18
Hesitsup,shieldinghiseyesfromthelight.“Jesus,Caroline,canyouturnitdown?”Hisvoiceisanoctavelowerthannormal,thickwithsleep.
Idon’tmovefromthedoorway.
“It’sMallory.”
Hepeeksoutbetweenhisfingersandseemssurprisedtofindhimselfinmycottage,inmybed,undermyblankets.“Oh,Jesus.Oh,fuck.I’msorry.”Heswingshislegsoutofbedandstandsupandimmediatelyloseshisbalance.Hegrabsthewalltosteadyhimselfandwaitsfortheroomtostopspinning.Tedissodrunkhedoesn’tseemtonoticethathe’snotwearingpants,thathe’shuddledagainstthewallinapoloshirtandblackboxer-briefunderwear.Therearegraychinossplayedacrossthefootofthebed,likehepeeledthemoffjustbeforetuckinghimselfin.
Hesays,“Thisisn’twhatitlookslike.”
ItlookslikeTedisbeingfriskedbythepolice.He’sgotbothlegsspreadapartandbothhandspressedagainstthewall.
“MaybeIshouldgetCaroline?”
“No!God,no.”Heturnstolookatme.“Ijustneedyouto—ohJesus,ohno.”Helooksbackatthewallandsteadieshimself.“Canyoubringmesomewater?”
IwalkovertothesinkandfilloneofthesmallplastictumblersthatIservetoTeddy.It’sillustratedwithpolarbearsandpenguins.IcarryitovertoTedandIcansmelltheboozeonhim;hereeksofscotchandsoursweat.Hedrinksfromthecup,sloshingmostofitacrosshisneckandchest.SoIfillitagainandthistimehemanagestogetmostofthewaterintohismouth.Buthisbodyisstillanchoredtothewall,likehe’snotquitereadytotakeongravity.
“Ted,whydon’tyoustayhere?I’llgotothebighouse.Icansleeponthesofa.”
“No,no,no,Ineedtogetback.”
“IreallythinkIshouldgetCaroline.”
“I’mbetternow.Thewaterhelps.Watch.”
Hestandsupstraightandtakesawobblysteptowardme.Thenhereachesout,flailing,desperateforhelp.Itakehishandandguidehimtothefootofthebed.Hesinksontothemattress,notreleasingmyhanduntilI’mseatedbesidehim.
“Fiveminutes,”hepromises.“It’sgettingbetter.”
“Doyouwantmorewater?”
“No,Idon’twanttothrowup.”
“HowaboutaTylenol?”
Iwantanexcusetostandandmoveawayfromhim,soIgointomybathroomandcomebackwiththreechewablebabyaspirin.IputtheminTed’ssweatypalmandhedutifullygrindsthembetweenhisteeth.
“CarolineandIhadafight.Ijustneededsomespace,alittleroomtoclearmyhead.Isawyourlightwasoff.Ifiguredyouwereoutforthenight.Ididn’tmeantofallasleep.”
“Iunderstand,”Itellhim,eventhoughIreallydon’t;Ihavenoideawhyheclimbedintomybed.
“Ofcourseyouunderstand.You’reaveryempatheticperson.That’swhyyou’resuchagreatmother.”
“I’mnotamotheryet.”
“You’dmakeagreatmother.You’rekind,you’recaring,andyou’dputthechildfirst.It’snotrocketscience.AreyouwearingCaroline’sdress?”
HiseyesareroamingallovermybodyandImovebehindthekitchencounter,gratefultohaveabarrierbetweenus.“Shegavemesomeclotheslastmonth.”
“Castoffs.Hand-me-downs.Youdeservebetter,Mallory.”HemumblessomethingsIcan’tmakeoutexcepttheveryend:“You’restuckinthisshitholeandthere’sawholebigworldoutthere.”
“Ilikeithere.IlikeSpringBrook.”
“Becauseyouhaven’tbeenanywhereelse.Ifyou’dtraveled,ifyou’dbeentoWhidbeyIsland,you’dunderstand.”
“Where’sthat?”
Heexplainsthatit’spartofachainofislandsinthePacificNorthwest.“Ispentasummerthereincollege.Bestsummerofmylife.Iworkedonaranch,Ispentalldayinthesunandatnightwesatonthebeachdrinkingwine.NoTVs,noscreens.Justgoodpeopleandnatureandthemostgorgeousviewsyou’veeverseen.”
Thenhenoticesthechinosontopofthebedspread.Heseemstounderstandthattheybelongtohim,thattheyoughttobeonhislegs.Heshakesoutthepantsandlowersthemtohisfeetandpromptlydropsthemonthefloor.IrealizeIwillneedtohelp.Ikneelinfrontofhim,holdingopenthepantssohecanpullthemon—firstoneleg,thentheother.Heraisesthemjustpasthiships,thenstaresintomyeyes.“Isweartoyou,Mallory,ifyousawPugetSound,you’dforgetSpringBrookinfiveminutes.You’drealizeSpringBrookisashithole,it’satrap.”
I’mnotreallylisteningtoanythinghe’ssaying.WhenyougrowupinSouthPhilly,youhavelotsofencounterswithlotsofdrunks,andyoulearnthatmostoftheircommentsarenonsense.Noneofthismeansanything.
“SpringBrookisbeautiful.Andyouhaveawonderfullifehere.Abeautifulfamily,abeautifulwife.”
“Shesleepsintheguestroom.Shewon’ttouchme.”
Tedismumblingandlookingdownathispants,soit’seasyformetopretendIdidn’thearthat.
“Youhaveabeautifulhouse,”Icontinue.
“Sheboughtit.Notme.ThisisthelastplaceonEarthI’dchoosetolive.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Caroline’sfatherwasverywealthy.Wecouldaffordtoliveanywhere.Manhattan,SanFrancisco,younameit.ButshewantedSpringBrook,sohereweareinSpringBrook.”Hespeaksasifeventshavespiraledbeyondhiscontrol.“Don’tgetmewrong,Mallory.She’sagoodperson.Shehasabigheart.AndshewoulddoanythingforTeddy’swell-being.ButthisisnotthelifeIwanted.Ineversignedonforanyofthis.”
“CanIgetyousomemorewater?”
Heshakeshishead,likeI’mfailingtograspsomeessentialpoint.“I’mnotaskingyoutotakecareofme.I’msayingIwouldtakecareofyou.”
“Iunderstand.AndI’llthinkaboutit.Butrightnowweshouldgetyouhome.Carolineisprobablyworried.”
Tedisincreasinglyincoherent—hesayssomethingaboutSenecaLakeandwinecountryandrunningawayfromeverything.Hemanagestostandwithoutmyhelp,thenliftshischinosandbuttonsthem.“Weshouldburnthese.”
“Tomorrow,”Itellhim.“Let’sburnthemtomorrow.”
“Butnotinthecottage.”Hepointstothesmokedetectoronthewall.“Allyourwiringisknobandtubesoit’sverydelicate.Veryfragile.Don’tfixityourself.Askmeforhelp.”
IopenthedoortothecottageandTedstumblesoutsideontotheporch.Somehowhemanagestodescendthethreestepstothelawnwithouttripping,andthenheveersoffintothedark,headingtowardthebighouse.
“Goodnight,”Icallafterhim.
“We’llsee,”hecallsback.
Iclosethedoortomycottageandlockit.IspyacrumpledwadofKleenexonthenightstandbesidemybed.Ipickitupwithapapertowelandshoveitdeepdowntothebottomofmywastebasket.ThenIpulloffmyblanketsandstripoffmysheetsanddiscoverthreeofmybrasmixedupineverything.Idon’tknowhowtheyendedupinmybedandIdon’twanttoknow.TomorrowIwillputeverythinginthelaundryandIwilltrytoforgetthishappened.
SinceIdon’thaveanyothersheets,Ihavetospreadmybathtowelsoverthemattressandliedownonthem.It’snotasuncomfortableasitsounds.AllIhavetodoisclosemyeyesandI’mtransportedbacktothebeautifulcastlegardenwithitsgentlewaterfallsandsweet-smellingfloralarchways.Nothingcanspoilthisnightforme—notmyargumentabouttheséancewithCaroline,andcertainlynotdiscoveringTedinmycottage.AndbeforeIfallasleepIaskGodtoforgivemeforlyingtoAdrian.IpraythatHe’llhelpmefindtherightwordstotellhimthetruth.IpraythatAdrianwillseepastallthehorriblethingsI’vedone—thathe’llseemeasthepersonIamnow,notthedisasterIusedtobe.
19
ThenextmorningIgettothebighouseandfindCarolineandTeddressedforworkandsittinginthebreakfastnook.CarolineisdrinkingteaandTedissippingblackcoffeeandthey’restaringateachotherinstonysilence.Irealizethey’rewaitingforme.
“Canyoujoinus?”Carolineasks.“Tedhassomethinghe’dliketosay.”
Tedlookslikehell.He’sclearlyhungover.Themanbelongsupstairsinbed.Ordownonhiskneesinthebathroom,hunchedoveratoilet.“Iwanttoapologizeformybehaviorlastnight.Itwascompletelyunacceptableand—”
“Ted,it’sfine.I’vealreadyforgottenaboutit.”
Carolineshakesherhead.“No,Mallory,we’renotgoingtopretendthisdidn’thappen.Weneedtofullyacknowledgeeverythingthatoccurredlastnight.”
Tednodsanddutifullycontinues,likehe’srecitingsomekindofmemorizedpublicstatement.“Myactionswerearrogantanddisrespectful.I’mashamedofmybehavior,andI’mlookinginwardtounderstandwhyIchosetoabusemyprivilege.”
“Apologyaccepted,”Itellthem.“Youdon’tneedtosayanythingelse.I’dfeelbetterifwejustmovedon,okay?”
TedlookstoCaroline,andsheshrugs.Fine.
“Thankyouforunderstanding,Mallory.Ipromiseitwon’thappenagain.”
Hestandsupandgrabshisbriefcaseandthenwalksunsteadilytowardthefoyer.Momentslater,Icanhearthefrontdoorslam,andthesoundofhiscarstartinginthedriveway.
“He’safraidyou’regoingtosueus,”Carolineexplains.“Canyoupleasetellmewhathappened?Inyourownwords?”
“Caroline,Ipromiseyou,itwasnothing.Lastnight,IwenttoAdrian’shouse.Hisparentswerehavingaparty.IgothomeaftermidnightandTedwasinmycottage.Hewasdrunk.Hesaidyouguyshadafight,andthatheneededaquietplacetocooloff.”
“Ithoughthewasdownstairs.Sleepingonthesofa.”
“AssoonasIcamehome,hesaidhewassorryandheleft.Thatwasit.”
“Didhetellyouaboutourfight?”
“No,hejustsaidyouwereagoodperson.Withagoodheart.Hesaidyouwoulddoanythingforyourfamily.”
“And?”
“Andthatwasit.Hewasn’tmakingalotofsense.Hetalkedaboutsomeisland?Wherehespentasummerincollege?”
“‘Workinginthesunandsleepingunderthestars,’”Carolinesays,andIrealizethatshe’sparodyingherhusband,gentlymockinghim.“Wheneverhegetsdrunk,hetalksaboutWhidbeyIsland.”
“Ididn’tmind.IgavehimsomewaterandsomebabyaspirinandIopenedthedoorandheleft.Endofstory.”
Shestudiesmyfacelikeshe’ssearchingforclues.“I’membarrassedtoaskthisnextquestion,butsincetechnicallyyou’remyemployee,IfeellikeIhaveto.Didhetryanything?”
“No.Notatall.”
Imean,IguessIcouldmentionthathetookoffhispants,andraidedmyunderweardrawer,anddidGod-knows-whatinmybedbeforeIarrived.Butwhatwouldbethepoint?PoorCarolinealreadylooksmiserable,andTedhasapologized.Idon’tseethepointindraggingthisout.I’mcertainlynotgoingtoquitoverwhathappened.
“Caroline,Isweartoyou,hedidn’tputahandonme.Notevenclose.”
Shereleasesadeeplongsigh.“Tedturnedfifty-threethissummer.I’msureyou’veheardaboutmenandtheirmidlifecrises.Theystartquestioningallthechoicesthey’vemade.Andontopofthat,hisbusinessisstruggling.It’stakingatollonhisego.Hewashopingtohiresomenewpeoplethisfall,butit’slookingdoubtful.”
“Howbigisthecompany?”
Shegivesmeafunnylook.“He’dlikeastaffoffortybutrightnowit’sjustTed.It’saone-manoperation.”
JustTed?MysensewasthatheworkedinabigCenterCityskyscraperfullofsecretariesandfancycomputersandbigglasswindowsoverlookingRittenhouseSquare.“HetoldmeheworkswithCrackerBarrel.AndYankeeCandle.Bigcompanies.”
“He’stakenmeetingswiththem,”Carolineexplains.“Hegoesaroundtodifferentcompaniesandofferstoruntheirwebsites.Directtheire-commercebusinesses.Butit’shardtolandthesebigclientswhenyou’rejustoneperson.”
“He’smentionedcoworkers.GuysnamedMikeandEd.Hesaystheyalleatlunchtogether.”
“Right,they’reallinthesameWeWork.Oneofthoseoffice-shareswherepeoplerentdesksbythemonth.BecauseTedneedstohaveamailingaddressinthecity.Abigpartofhisbusinessismakingagoodimpression.Tryingtoappearmoreimportantthanyoureallyare.He’sbeenunderalotofstressthissummer—andlastnight,Ithinkyousawthefirstcracksinthefacade.”
HervoicebreaksandIrealizeshe’sworriednotjustforTedbutalsofortheirmarriage,fortheirentirefamily.AndItrulyhavenoideawhattosaytoher.I’mrelievedtohearTeddy’sfootstepscomingdownthestairs.Carolinesitsupstraightanddabshereyeswithanapkin.
TeddyentersthekitchencarryinganiPad.He’sswipinghisfingeracrossthesurfaceandthescreenrespondswithloud,cacophonousexplosions.
“Heythere,TeddyBear!Whatchagot?”
Hedoesn’tlookupfromthescreen.“Mommygaveittomelastnight.ItusedtobeDaddy’sbutnowit’smine.”Hegrabsaplastictumblerandfillsitwithwaterfromthesink.Withoutanotherwordofexplanation,hecarriesthecupandiPadintotheden.
“Teddy’stakingabreakfromdrawing,”Carolineexplains.“Inlightofalltheconfusion,wethinkheneedssomenewinterests.AndtheAppStorehasatonofeducationalresources.Mathgames,phonics,evenforeignlanguages.”Shewalksacrossthekitchenandopensacabinetabovetherefrigerator,waybeyondTeddy’sreach.“Igatheredallhiscrayonsandmarkersandputthemuphere.Teddy’ssoexcitedabouttheiPad,Idon’tthinkhe’sevennoticed.”
Iknowthefirstruleofbabysittingisneversecond-guessingthemother,butIcan’thelpfeelinglikethisisamistake.TeddytookarealjoyindrawingandIthinkit’swrongtodeprivehimoftheprivilege.Worse,Ifeellikeit’shappeningbecauseofme,becauseIwouldn’tkeepmymouthshutaboutAnnieBarrett.
Carolineregistersmydisappointment.“It’sanexperiment.Justforacoupledays.Maybeitcanhelpusunderstandwhat’shappening.”Sheclosesthedoortothecabinet,asifthematterissettled.“ButnowtellmeaboutthispartyatAdrian’shouse.Didyouhaveanicetime?”
“Reallynice.”AndIguessI’mhappytochangethesubject,becauseI’vebeenthinkingaboutourdinnerdatesinceIgotoutofbed.“We’regoingouttonight.HewantstodrivetoPrinceton.Somekindoftapasrestaurant.”
“Oooh,thoseplacesaresoromantic.”
“He’spickingmeupatfivethirty.”
“ThenI’lltrytogethomeearly.Giveyousomeextratimetogetready.”Thenshechecksthetime.“Shoot,Ibettergo.I’msoexcitedforyou,Mallory!You’regoingtohavesomuchfuntonight!”
AfterCarolineleaves,IfindTeddysittingintheden,mesmerizedbyagameofAngryBirds.He’susinghisfingertostretchandreleaseagiantslingshot;he’slaunchingcolorfulbirdsataseriesofwoodandsteelstructuresoccupiedbypigs.Witheachnewattack,there’sacacophonyofscreeches,explosions,bangs,blasts,andslidewhistles.IsitacrossfromTeddyandclapmyhandstogether.“So,whatarewedoingthismorning?AlittlestrollintheEnchantedForest?OrhowaboutaBake-Off?”
Heshrugs,swipingfuriously.“Idon’tcare.”
OneofthebirdsmissesitstargetandTeddyfurrowshisbrow,frustratedbytheresults.Hehunchesclosertothescreen,almostlikehe’stryingtodisappearinsideit.
“Comeon,Teddy.Putthegameaway.”
“I’mnotdone.”
“Mommysaysit’sforQuietTime.Shedoesn’twantyouusingitallmorning.”
Heturnsawayfromme,shieldingthetabletwithhisbody.“Justonemorelevel.”
“Howlongisalevel?”
Itturnsoutthatonemoreleveltakesagoodhalfhour.Afterhe’sfinished,TeddypleadswithmetochargetheiPad,sohe’llhaveenoughbatteriesforlater.
WespendthemorningtramplingaroundtheEnchantedForest.ItrytomakeupanewadventurestoryforPrinceTeddyandPrincessMallory,butallTeddywantstodiscussisAngryBirdsstrategy.Yellowbirdsarebestforattackingwoodstructures.Blackbirdscandestroyconcretewalls.Whitebirdsaccelerateafterdroppingtheireggbombs.It’snotreallyaconversation;he’sjustrecitingastringoffactsanddata,likehe’stryingtoorganizetherulesinhismind.
IspyaglintofsilverinabedofleavesandIkneeldowntoinvestigate.It’sthebottomhalfofanarrow;thetoppartwiththefeathersismissingandallthatremainsisthealuminumshaftandapyramid-shapedtip.
“Thisisamagicmissile,”ItellTeddy.“It’susedforslayinggoblins.”
“That’scool,”Teddysays.“Also,thegreenbirdisaboomerangbird.Hegetsdouble-damagewhenheattacks.SoIliketoplayhimfirst.”
IsuggestthatwehiketotheGiantBeanstalkandaddthearrowtoourarsenalofweapons.Teddyagrees,buthisparticipationfeelshalf-hearted.It’slikehe’sjustbidinghistime,runningdowntheclockuntilmorningisoverandwecangobacktothehouse.
IoffertomakeTeddyanythinghewantsforlunchbuthesayshedoesn’tcaresoIjustmakegrilledcheese.Ashewolfsdownthesandwich,Iremindhimthathedoesn’thavetousetheiPadduringQuietTime.IsuggestitmightbefuntoplayLEGOsorLincolnLogsorfarmanimals.AndheglancesatmelikeI’mtryingtoswindlehim,likeI’mtryingtocheathimoutofaprivilegehehasrightfullyearned.
“Thanks,butI’lldomygame,”hesays.
HecarriesthetabletuptohisbedroomandafterafewminutesIclimbthestairstothesecondfloorandpressmyeartohisbedroomdoor.Therearenowhisperedwords,nohalf-conversations.JustoccasionallaughterfromTeddy,andthesoundsofstretchingslingshots,squawkingbirds,andimplodingbuildings.Hesoundsgiddywithdelight,butsomethinginhishappinessmakesmesad.Overnight,likeflippingaswitch,Ifeelasifsomethingmagicalhasbeenlost.
Igodownstairs,takeoutmyphone,andcallthenumberoftheRestHavenRetirementCommunity.ItellthereceptionistthatI’mlookingtospeakwithoneoftheresidents,DoloresJeanCampbell.Thephoneringsseveraltimesbeforeadefaultvoicemailgreetingkickson.
“Um,hi,mynameisMalloryQuinn?Wedon’tknoweachother,butIthinkmaybeyoucanhelpme?”
IrealizeIhavenoideahowtoexplainmyquestion,thatIshouldhavepracticedwhattosaybeforethecall,butnowit’stoolateandIjustneedtoblunderahead.
“IwonderedifyourmotherwassomeonenamedAnnieBarrett.FromSpringBrook,NewJersey.Becauseifsheis,Iwouldreallylovetotalkwithyou.Canyoupleasecallmeback?”
IleavemynumberandendthecallfeelinglikeI’vealreadyhitadeadend.I’mconvincedI’llneverhearfromher.
Icleanupthelunchdishesandthengoaroundthekitchenwithasoapysponge,cleaningthecountersandtryingtomakemyselfuseful.Morethanever,I’mfeelingvulnerableinmyjob.It’slikeeverydaybringssomenewreasonforCarolinetoreplaceme.SoIbusymyselfwithtasksoutsidemyjobdescription.Isweepandmopupthefloors,andwipedowntheinsideofthemicrowave.Iopenthetoasterovenandemptythelittletrayofcrumbs.Ireachunderthesinkandfilltheliquidsoapdispensers,thenstandonachairandwipethedustofftheceilingfan.
Alltheselittlechoresmakemefeelbetter,butI’mnotsureCarolinewillnotice.IdecideIneedabiggerandmoreambitiousproject,somethingshecouldnevermiss.ImoveintothedenandliedownonthesofaandI’mconsideringallmydifferentoptionswhenI’mstruckbytheperfectidea:IwillbringTeddytothesupermarket,wewillbuyabunchoffood,andwe’llprepareasurprisedinnerforhisparents.I’llhavethewholemealwarmingintheovensoit’sreadytoeatassoonastheygethome.I’llevensetthetablesotheywon’thavetoliftafinger.Theycanjustenterthehouse,sitdownwithsomedeliciousfood,andbegratefulthatI’mpartoftheirfamily.
ButbeforeIcanactuallyactonthisidea,beforeIcansitupandstartashoppinglist,Ifallasleep.
I’mnotsurehowithappens.I’mnotparticularlytired.Ionlymeanttorestmyeyesforaminute.ButthenextthingIknow,I’mdreamingaboutaplacefrommychildhood,atinyfamily-ownedamusementparkcalledStorybookLand.Itwasbuiltinthe1950stocelebratealltheclassicfairytalesandMotherGoosenurseryrhymes.KidscouldclimbagiantbeanstalkorvisitthethreelittlepigsorwavethroughawindowtotheOldWomanWhoLivedinaShoe,acreakyanimatronicpuppetwithadead-eyedstare.
Inmydream,I’mwalkingTeddypastthecarouselandhe’sincrediblyexcitedandhepleadswithmetoholdallhispencilsandcrayonssohecanstartgoingonrides.Heemptiesanentireboxintomyhands,morethanIcanpossiblycarry,andthepencilsfallallaroundmyfeet.Itrytostuffthemintomypocketsbecausethere’snowayIcancarryallofthem.AndbythetimeI’vecollectedeverything,Teddyisgone.I’velosthiminthecrowd.Mydreamhasturnedintoanightmare.
Istartrunningthroughthepark,shovingpasttheotherparents,shoutingTeddy’snameandsearchingallover.StorybookLandisfulloffive-year-oldchildrenandfromthebacktheyalllookidentical,anyoneofthemcouldbeTeddy,Ican’tfindhimanywhere.Ipullsomeparentsasideandbegthemtohelpme,pleasepleasehelpme,andthey’reappalled.“Butthisisyourresponsibility,”theytellme.“Whywouldwehelp?”
IhavenochoicebuttocalltheMaxwells.Idon’twanttotellthemwhat’shappened,butit’sanemergency.ItakeoutmycellphoneandI’mcallingCaroline’snumberwhensuddenlyIseehim!Allthewayacrossthepark,sittingonthestepsofLittleRedRidingHood’scottage.Ielbowmywaythroughthrongsofpeople,tryingtomoveasfastasIcan.ButbythetimeIreachthecottageit’snotTeddyanymore.It’smysister,Beth!She’swearingayellowT-shirtandfadedjeansandcheckeredblack-and-whiteVans.
Irunoverandhugherandliftherofftheground.Ican’tbelieveshe’shere,she’salive!Isqueezehersotightshestartslaughing,andsunlightglintsoffherorthodonticbraces.“Ithoughtyouweredead!IthoughtIkilledyou!”
“Don’tbeadork,”shesays,andmydreamissorealisticIcanactuallysmellher.Shesmellslikecoconutandpineapple,likethepi?acoladabathbombsthatsheandhergirlfriendsusedtobuyatLush,theoverpricedsoapshopattheKingofPrussiaMall.
SheexplainstheaccidentwasjustabigmisunderstandingandallthistimeI’vebeenblamingmyselffornothing.
“Areyousureyou’reokay?”
“Yes,Mal,fortheonemillionthtimeIamtotallyokay.NowcanweridetheBalloonBounce?”
“Yes,Beth,yes!Anything!Anythingyouwant!”
ButthenTeddyisback,he’spullingonmyarm,he’sgentlyshakingmeawake.IopenmyeyesandI’mlyingonthesofainthedenandTeddyisholdingouttheiPad.
“Itwentdeadagain.”
I’mcertainhe’smistaken.IjustchargedtheiPadoverlunchandthebatterywentto100percent.ButasIsitup,Irealizethelightinthedenissignificantlydarker;thesunhasstoppedstreamingthroughthenorth-facingwindows.Theclockoverthemantelsaysit’s5:17butthatcan’tberight,that’simpossible.
Ireachformyphoneandconfirmit’sactually5:23.
I’vebeenasleepfourhours.
AndtheMaxwellswillbehomeanyminute.
“Teddy,whathappened?Whydidn’tyouwakemeup?”
“Igottolevelthirty,”hesaysproudly.“Iunlockedeightnewfeathercards!”
Myhandsarefilthy.Myfingersandpalmsaresmearedwithdarkblacksoot,likeI’vebeendiggingoutsideinthegarden.There’saworn-downnubofpencilinmylap—andmorepencilsandmarkersandcrayonsscatteredonthefloor,alltheartsuppliesthatCarolinestashedawayinthekitchen.
Teddylooksaroundthedeninwide-eyedwonder.
“Mommy’sgoingtobesomad.”
Ilookwherehe’slookingandthewallsarecoveredwithsketches—many,manysketches,denseanddetailedandspanningfromfloortoceiling.
“Teddy,whydidyoudothis?”
“Me?Ididn’tdoanything!”
Andofcoursehedidn’t.Hecouldn’t!He’snottallenough!He’snottheonewithcharcoalandgraphitesmearedalloverhishands.Iwalkacrosstheroomtotakeacloserlook.TheseareAnya’sdrawings,there’snodoubtinmymind.They’realloverthewalls,drawnintheblankspotsbetweenwindowsandthermostatsandlightswitches.
“Mallory?Areyouokay?”
He’stuggingonmyshirttail,andIamnotokay.
Iamdefinitelynotokay.
“Teddy,listentome.WeneedtofixthisbeforeMommyandDaddygethome.Doyouhaveanyerasersinyourbedroom?Bigfatpinkrubbererasers?”
Helooksatallthepencilsandcrayonsandmarkersonthefloor.“ThisiseverythingIhave.ButI’mnotsupposedtousetheseanymore.Notuntilwegettothebottomofthings.”
It’stoolate,anyway.Icanhearacarpullingintothedriveway.IlookoutsideandseenotjustTedandCarolinebutAdrian,too.He’sparkinghislandscapingtruckinfrontofthehouse.RightnowI’msupposedtobeputtingononeofCaroline’ssummerdresses,gettingreadyformybigdinnerdateinPrinceton.
“Goupstairs,Teddy.”
“Why?”
“BecauseIdon’twantyoutobehere.”
“Why?”
“Pleasejustgoupstairs?Please?”There’saUSBcableonthecoffeetableandIpassittohim.“GochargetheiPadinyourbedroom.”
“Okay,cool.”
TeddytakestheiPadandthecableandrunsoutoftheden,likehethinkshe’sgettingawaywithsomething.Icanhearhislittlefeetrunningupstairstohisroom.
Andthenthesoundofthefrontdooropening,thesoftswishofthedoorsweepwhiskingoverthetiledfloor.IcanhearCarolinetalkingtoAdrian,welcominghimintotheirhome.“Whereareyougoingfordinner?”
“Areallygoodtapasplace,”hesays.“Theymakeakillerpatatasbravas.”
“Mmmm,whatarethose?”Tedasks.
“Mr.Maxwell,they’rethebestFrenchfriesyou’veevertasted,Iguaranteeit.”
IknowIneedtointerceptthemandsomehowpreparethemforwhatI’vedone.IheadintothekitchenandCarolineisaskingAdrianifhe’dlikesomethingtodrink.Thecabinetabovetherefrigeratorisstillhangingopen,itscontentshavebeenlooted,butCarolinehasn’tnoticedyet.
AndAdrianissohandsomeit’salmostheartbreaking.Helookslikehe’sjuststeppedoutoftheshower.Hishairisalittledamp,andhe’ssmartlydressedindarkjeansandacrispwhitebutton-downshirt.NooneseesmeenterthekitchenuntilIannouncemypresence.
“Somethinghappened.”
Carolinestaresatme.“Mallory?”
“What’sonyourhands?”Tedasks.
Adrianhurriestomyside.“Areyouokay?”
AndIknowhe’smyonlyhope.
He’stheonlyonewhomightbelieveme.
“ThisisgoingtosoundcrazybutIswearI’mtellingthetruth.AfterTeddywentupstairsforQuietTime,Istartedfeelingtired.Ilaydownonthesofatorest.IfiguredIwouldclosemyeyes,justforafewminutes.Andthensomehow—Idon’tknowhow—Anya’sspirittookpossessionofmybody.”
Carolinestaresatme.“What?”
“Iknow.Iknowitsoundscrazy.ButwhileIwassleeping,shemademegetoutallthepencilsandmarkersandcrayons.”Ipointtotheemptycabinetabovetherefrigerator.“Andsinceyoutookallthepaper,shemademedrawonyourwalls.Shecouldn’tgetinsideTeddysosheputherselfinme.”
Adrianputsanarmaroundmywaist.“Hey,it’sokay.You’resafenow.We’regoingtofigurethisout.”
Carolineshovespastme,stormingintotheden,andweallfollow.Shedrawsinherbreathsharply,staringatthewallsindisbelief.
“Where’sTeddy?”
“Inhisroom.He’sfine.”
Carolinelookstoherhusband.Hehurriesupstairs.
ItrytowalkCarolinethroughtheafternoon.“Hewentintohisbedroomatoneo’clock.ForQuietTime.IlethimtaketheiPad,justlikeyousaid.Hedidn’tcomedownstairsuntiltenminutesago.Rightwhenyougothome.”
“Fourhours?”sheasks.
IshowAdrianmyrighthand,allcoveredwithgraphiteandcharcoalandblisters.“I’mleft-handed,justlikeTeddy.Icouldn’thavedonethisonmyown.Thesearejustlikethepicturesinmycottage.”
“Yes,exactly!Thestyleisidentical!”Hetakesouthissmartphoneandwalksaroundtheroom,capturingphotographsofthevariousscenes.“Thefirstthingweshoulddoiscomparethemtotheotherpictures.Seehowtheyfitinthesequence.”
“No,”Carolinesays.“Thefirstthingwe’redoingisatoxscreen.Rightnow.OrI’mcallingthepolice.”
Adrianstaresather.“Toxscreen?”
“Ican’tbelieveIleftyoualonewithourson.Ican’tbelieveItrustedyou!WhatthehellwasIthinking?”
“I’mnotusing,”Itellher.Itrytospeaksoftly,asifit’ssomehowpossibletohavetheconversationinasidebar.AsifAdrianwasn’tstandingrighttherelistening.“Isweartoyou,Caroline,I’mclean.”
“Thenyou’llhavenoproblemwiththetest.Whenyoustartedworkinghere,youagreedtorandomtestingeveryweek.Youvolunteered.Ondaysofourchoosing.”Shetakesmywristandstudiesmyarmformarks.“Iguessweshouldhavestartedalotsooner.”
Tedreturnsfromthesecondfloor,andwithasinglelookheassuresCarolinethatTeddyisfine.MeanwhileAdrianistryingtopersuadeCarolinethatshe’sgotthesituationallwrong.
“Mrs.Maxwell,Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,butMallory’snotondrugs.Doyoureallythinkshe’dhaveanathleticscholarshipifshewasdoingheroin?PennStatewouldkickherofftheteaminaheartbeat.”
Anawkwardsilencesettlesintotheroom,andIrealizeCarolineisgivingmeachancetoexplainmyself.Icanfeelmytearswellingupbecausethisisn’thowitwassupposedtohappen.“Okay,wait,”Itellhim.“Because,thethingis,Ihaven’tbeencompletelyhonestwithyou.”
Adrianstillhashisarmsaroundme,buthisgripgoesloose.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Iwasgoingtotellyouthetruthtonight.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
AndIstillcan’tdoit.
Istillhavenoideawheretobegin.
“Mallorydoesn’tgotoPennState,”Tedexplains.“She’sspentthelasteighteenmonthsinrehab.Inahalfwayhouse.Shewasabusingprescriptionpainkillersandheroin.”
“Plusotherdrugsshedoesn’tevenremember,”Carolineadds.“Thebrainneedstimetoheal,Mallory.”
NowAdrianisn’tholdingmeatall.NowI’mjusthangingontohisbodylikeabigsadpatheticmonster,likeaparasite.Heshakesmeoffsohecanseemyface.
“Isthisforreal?”heasks.
“I’mnotusing,”Itellhim.“Isweartoyou,Adrian,IamtwentymonthssobernextTuesday.”
AndhetakesastepbacklikeI’vestruckhim.Carolinerestsagentlehandonhisshoulder.“Thismustbehardforyoutohear.WejustassumedMalloryhadbeenhonestwithyouaboutherhistory.Wethoughtshetoldyouthetruth.”
“No,notatall.”
“Adrian,IworkwithalotofaddictsattheVAhospital.They’regoodpeople,andourmaingoalismovingthembackintosociety.Butsometimesthetimingisn’tright.Sometimes,welaunchpeoplebeforethey’reready.”
IlookupatCaroline,furious.“ThatisNOTwhat’shappeninghere!Iamnotondrugs.AndIamnotafuckingillustrator!Isweartoyou,Caroline.Somethingiswrongwiththishouse.TheghostofAnnieBarrettishauntingyourson,andnowshe’shauntingme,andthisishermessage.”Ipointallaroundtheroom,atallofthewalls.“Thisisherstory!”
AndIknowImustlookcrazyandsoundcrazybecauseAdrianstudiesmeinakindofbewilderment.Helookslikehe’sseeingmeforthefirsttime.
“Butistherestofittrue?”heasks.“Youlivedinahalfwayhouse?Youusedheroin?”
I’mtooashamedtoanswer,buthecanreadthetruthonmyface.AdrianturnsandleavesthedenandIgotofollowhimbutCarolineblocksmyway.“Lethimgo,Mallory.Don’tmakethisanyharderforhim.”
IturntowardthewindowandwatchAdriancrosstheflagstonewalkwayandhisfaceisalltwistedupwithhurt.Halfwaydownthedrivewayhebreaksintoakindoftrot,likehecan’twaittogetthehellawayfromme.Hegetsinsideablackpickuptruckandpeelsawayfromthecurb.
AndwhenIlookbackatCaroline,she’sholdingaplasticcup.“Comeon.Let’sgetthisoverwith.”
Shewalksmetothepowderroom.Igoinsideandreachtoclosethedoor,butshestopsme,shakingherhead.Asifshe’sworriedI’mgoingtosomehowmanipulatemysample,likeIcarryaroundvialsofcleanurinejustincase.CarolinedoesmethecourtesyofturningherheadwhileIdropmyshortsandsquatoverthetoilet.Havingbeentestedmanyhundredsoftimes,Iamwellpracticedincollectingcleansamples.Icanfillafour-ouncecupwithoutspillingadrop.Isetthecupontheedgeofthesink,thenpullupmyshortsandwashmyhands.Thewaterrunsblack,fillingthebasinwithgrainyresidue.Iuseabarofsoaptoscrapeatmyfingersandpalms,butthegraphiteclingstomyskinlikeink,likestainsthatwillnevercomeout.
“I’llwaitforyouintheden,”Carolinesays.“Wewon’tstartuntilyougetthere.”
Allmyhandwashingleavesafilthygrayringontheimmaculatewhitepedestalsink.Yetanotherthingtofeelguiltyabout.Itrytocleanitupwithsometoiletpaper,thenIdrymyhandsonmyshorts.
WhenIreachtheden,CarolineandTedareseatedonthesofaandthey’vegotmysampleonthecoffeetable,restingatopapapertowel.Carolineshowsmeadipcardthat’sstillwrappedincellophane,toproveithasn’tbeentamperedwith.Thensheunwrapsthecard,exposesthefiveteststrips,andlowersthemintothecup.
“Look,Iunderstandwhyyou’redoingthis,butit’snotgoingtocomeuppositive.Isweartoyou.I’vebeensoberfortwentymonths.”
“Andwewanttobelieveyou,”Carolinesays,andthensheglancesatthedrawingsalloverthewalls.“Butweneedtounderstandwhathappenedheretoday.”
“Ialreadytoldyouwhathappened.Anyatookpossessionofmybody.Sheusedmelikeapuppet.Ididn’tdrawanyofthesepictures!Shedid!”
“Ifwe’regoingtotalkaboutthis,”Carolinesays,“weneedtostaycalm.Wecan’tshoutateachother.”
Itakeabreath.“Allright.Okay.”
“Nowbeforeyoucametoworkhere,wehadalongtalkwithRussellaboutyourhistory.Hetoldusaboutyourstruggles—thefalsememories,thelapses—”
“Thisisdifferent.Idon’thavethoseproblemsanymore.”
“Youknowjustacoupledaysago,Teddylosthisboxofdrawingpencils.Hecametomecrying.Hewasupsetbecausehecouldn’tfindthemanywhere.Andsoonafterthat,allthesepicturesstartmagicallyappearinginyourcottage.Doesn’tthatseemlikeanextraordinarycoincidence?”
Ilookdownatthecup.It’sonlybeenaminute.It’sstillwaytooearlyforresults.
“Caroline,Icanbarelydrawastraightline.Itookoneartclassinhighschool.IgotaCplus.There’snowayIdrewthesepictures,I’mnotthatgood.”
“Mypatientsalwayssaythesamething:‘Ican’tdrawtosavemylife!’Butthentheytryarttherapyandtheresultsareextraordinary.Theydrawthemostamazingimagestoworkthroughtheirtrauma.Toprocesstruthsthey’renotreadytoface.”
“That’snotwhatthisis.”
“Lookatthewomaninyourpictures.She’syoung,she’stall.Shehasanathleticbuild.She’sactuallyrunning,Mallory.Doessheremindyouofanyone?”
Iseewhereshe’sgoingbutshe’swrong.“That’snotaself-portrait.”
“It’sasymbolicrepresentation.Avisualmetaphor.You’velostyouryoungersister.You’reupset,you’repanicking,you’redesperatetobringherback—butit’stoolate.She’sfallenintoavalleyofdeath.”Shemovesaroundtheden,directingmyattentionfromonepicturetothenext.“Andthenanangelcomestohelpher—nothingtoosubtleaboutthatmetaphor,right?TheangelisleadingBethtowardthelightandyoucan’tstopthem.Bethhascrossedover,she’snevercomingback.Youknowthis,Mallory.It’sallhereonthewall.Thisisn’tAnya’sstory.It’syourstory.It’sBeth’sstory.”
Ishakemyhead.Idon’twanttodragBethintothis.Idon’tevenwantCarolinesayinghername.
“Weknowwhathappened,”shecontinues.“Russelltoldusyourstoryandit’sawful,Mallory.Iamsosorryithappened.Iknowyou’recarryingalotofguilt,alotofgrief.Butifyoudon’taddressthesefeelings—ifyoujustkeeptampingthemdown—”Shegesturesaroundtheroomtomyartwork.“They’relikesteamunderpressure,Mallory.They’regoingtolookforcracksandfindawaytoescape.”
“Whataboutalltheotherpictures?Thewomanbeingstrangled?”
“Anabstractconceptmadeliteral,”Carolinesays.“Maybegrief,oraddiction.Thestrangleholdthatdrugsputonyourbody.”
“Andthewomangettingdraggedthroughtheforest?”
“Perhapsthere’ssomeonewhopulledyououtofdanger?Asponsorormentor?LikeRussell?”
“Thenwhyisheburyingme?”
“He’snotburyingyou,Mallory.He’sfreeingyou.Excavatingyoufromamountainofheroinandbringingyoubacktosociety.Andlookatyounow!”
CarolineturnsthedipcardsoIcanseetheresults.Allfivetabs—theindicatorsforTHC,opioids,cocaine,amphetamines,andmeth—they’veallcomeupnegative.
“Twentymonthssober,”Tedsays.“That’samazing.”
“We’rereallyproudofyou,”Carolinesays.“Butit’sclearyouhavealotmoreworktodo,isn’tthatright?”
AndIdon’tknowwhattosay.
IagreetherearesomeverypuzzlingparallelsbetweenAnya’sdrawingsandmyownpersonalhistory.
Andyes,Ihavestruggledwithlapsesandfalsememoriesandalltheotherpsychologicalfalloutofdrugaddiction.
ButIhavetwelvemoredrawingsbackatmycottagethatstinkofdeathandthere’sonlyonepersonresponsible.
“Anyadrewthese.Notme.”
“Anyaisanimaginaryfriend.Teddyknowsshe’smadeup.Heunderstandsshedoesn’treallyexist.”
“Teddyisscaredandconfusedandhe’srepeatingeverythingyou’reteachinghim.Iknowyouguyswenttogreatschoolsandyouthinkyouhavethewholeworldfiguredout.Butyou’rewrongaboutthesepictures,you’rewrongaboutthishouse,andyou’rewrongaboutTeddy.Thereissomeseriouslyweirdshithappeningrightunderyournoseandyou’relivingindenial!”
BythispointI’myelling,Ican’thelpmyself,butTedandCarolineareunshaken.Irealizethatthey’vestoppedlisteningtome,thatthey’rereadytomoveon.
“Ithinkweshouldjustagreetodisagree,”Carolinetellsme.“Maybeshe’saghostormaybeshe’sjustguilt.Itdoesn’tmatter,Mallory.Thekeytakeawayisthatyouleftoursonunattendedforfourhours,andIdon’ttrustyoutowatchhimanymore.”
Tedagreesthat“achangeneedstohappen”andCarolinesaysit’sgoodtothinkofthismomentasacrossroads,anopportunitytoimprovethingsforeveryone.
Andtheybothsoundsopositive,sosupportiveandencouraging,ittakesmeamomenttorealizeI’mbeingfired.
20
I’mbackinmycottagefortenminuteswhenmyphonerings.
It’sRussell.CallingfromatinymotelonRoute66,somewhereinthedesertbetweenLasVegasandtheGrandCanyon.It’sabadconnection,andthelinecracklesandpops.
“Quinn!Whathappened?”
“IthinkIlostthejob.”
“No,youdefinitelylostthejob!Carolinetextedmepicturesofyourcrazyape-shitartproject.Whatthehellisgoingonoverthere?”
“There’ssomethinginthishouse,Russell.Somekindofpresence.FirstshewentafterTeddyandnowshe’scomingafterme.”
“Presence?”Mostdays,Russellisafontoflimitlessenergyandenthusiasm—butsuddenlyhesoundstiredandjustatinybitdisappointed.“Youmeanlikeaghost?”
“I’mnotusing.Carolinetestedme.”
“Iknow.”
“Thisissomethingelse.Thisis—”
We’reinterruptedbyahissofstatic,andforamomentI’mworriedI’velosthim.Thenhisvoicecomesback.
“Youshouldgettoameeting.Whattimeisitthere?Sixthirty?Fridaynight?TryHolyRedeemer.Theystartatseven,Ithink.”
“Idon’tneedameeting.”
“Aretherefriendsyoucancall?Someoneyoucanstaywith?Idon’twantyoualonetonight.”AndIguesshecantellfrommysilencethere’snooneheretohelpme.“Allright,listen.I’mcominghome.”
“No!”
“It’sfine.Ihateithereanyway.Theweather’simpossible.Ihavetodoallmyrunningindoors,ontreadmills,becauseifyoustepoutsidefortenminutestheheat’llstopyourheart.”
Heexplainsthathe’llneedtwoorthreedaystocomegetme.He’scurrentlyenroutetotheGrandCanyon,sohe’llhavetodrivebacktoLasVegasandbookanewflight.“SomaybeSundaybutdefinitelyMonday.YoujustneedtomakeittoMonday,okay?DoreenandIwillpickyouup.Youcanstaywithmeafewweeks,we’llhaveadoctorlookyouover.FigureoutaPlanB.”
“Thankyou,Russell.”
Iletmyphonedroptothefloorandclosemyeyes.IknowIshouldgetoutofbed,Ishouldgotoameetingorattheveryleastmakemyselfdinner.Butoutsidethecottage,it’sstartedtorain,oneofthoseabruptsummerthunderstormsthatcomeoutofnowhere.Windshakestheroofandwatercascadesdownmywindows.I’mtrappedinsidethecottageandIwishtherewassomeoneIcouldcall.I’mdreadingthelongweekendaheadofme,thelonglonelywaituntilRussellcomestogetme.MyonlyotherfriendsarebackatSafeHarbor,butI’mtooashamedtotellthemwhatI’vedone.
Ofcourse,therearealsomyfriendsbeforeSafeHarbor.I’veerasedalltheirnamesandnumbersfrommycontacts,butitwouldn’tbehardtotrackthemdown.Philadelphiaisathirty-minutetrainridefromSpringBrook.IfIcouldjustgettoKensingtonAvenue,IknowI’drecognizeplentyoffaces,oldfriendshappytoseeme,readytowelcomemehome.Ihavetwelvehundreddollarsinmycheckingaccount.Icanpickupandgo,andnooneherewouldevermissme.
ExceptTeddy.
Teddywouldmissme,Iknowhewould.
Ican’tleavehimwithoutsayinggoodbye.
Ineedtostickaroundlongenoughtoexplainthings,tolethimknowthatnoneofthiswashisfault.
AndsoIstayinmyperfectlittlecottage,thenicestplaceI’veeverlived,abeautifullyfurnishedreminderofeverythingI’vejustlost.Itrainsandrainsandthebuzzinginmybrainisworsethanever—likemyheadisfullofmosquitoes.Ismashapillowintomyfaceandscreambutnothingwillsilencethenoise.
ThatnightIsleepforten,twelve,fourteenhours.EverytimeIwakeup,Irememberwhathappened,andthenIburrowundermyblanketsuntilI’masleepagain.
Atteno’clockSaturdaymorningIstandupanddragmyselfintotheshower.Itmakesmefeelbetter,alittle,Iguess.ThenIstepoutsideandthere’sarockholdingasheetofpaperonmyporch.
OhsweetJesus,Ithinktomyself,I’mreallygoingcrazy.
Butit’sjustanotefromCaroline:
DearMallory,TedandIaretakingTeddytotheshore.Wetoldhimyou’llbemovingaway,andofcoursehe’supset.Hopefullyadayofbeachandboardwalkrideswilltakehismindoffthings.We’llbegoneuntillatesoyou’llhavethepoolandyardtoyourself.Also:Russellcalledthismorningwithanupdate.Hehasbookedared-eyeticketfortomorrownight,andhe’llbehereMondaymorning,between10and11a.m.We’dliketospendtomorrowafternooncelebratingyourtimewithourfamily—withswimming,dinner,dessert,etc.Startingaround3:00ifthatworksforyou.Pleasecallifyouneedanythingorjustwanttotalk.Iamheretosupportyouduringthistransition.Love,Caroline
Iwalkovertothebighousetogetsomeorangejuice,butwhenItrytoentermypasscodeonthekeypad,itdoesn’twork.Ofcourseitdoesn’t.TedandCarolinemighttrustmewiththeirbackyard,butthere’snowaythey’llletmebackintheirhouse,notafterIdrewalloverthewalls.
IknowIshouldgoforarun.IknowI’llfeelbetterifIgetoutandlogafewmiles.ButI’mtooembarrassedtoleavethebackyard,tooashamedtoshowmyfacearoundtheneighborhood.Iimaginethatnewsofmydeceptionhasspreadquickly,andnoweveryoneinSpringBrookknowsmysecret.Iwalkbacktomycottage,pourmyselfabowlofCheerios,andthenrememberI’moutofmilk.Ieatthemdry,withmyfingers.IlieonmybedwithmytabletandgototheHallmarkChannel,scanningtheselectionofmovies,butsuddenlytheyallseemfakeandhorribleandawful—fulloffalsepromisesandbullshithappyendings.
I’mtenminutesintosomethingcalledAShoeAddict’sChristmaswhenIhearfootstepsonmyporchandasoftknockatmydoor.Ifigureit’sprobablyMitzi,comingtoapologizeforherbehaviorduringtheséance.Iyellout“I’mbusy”andraisethevolumeonmytablet.
Adrian’sfaceappearsinthewindow.
“Weneedtotalk.”
Ileapoutofbedandopenthedoor.“Yes,wereallydo,because—”
“Nothere,”hesays.“I’vegotmytruckoutfront.Let’sgoforadrive.”
Hedoesn’tsaywherewe’regoing,butassoonasreachtheon-rampfor295Ifigureitout.Wemergeintofast-flowingtraffic,connectwith76West,andcrosstheWaltWhitmanBridge,soaringhighabovetheshipyardsandseaportsoftheDelawareRiver.WearegoingtoSouthPhiladelphia.Adrianisbringingmehome.
“Youdon’thavetodothis.Turnthetruckaround.”
“We’realmostthere,”hesays.“Fivemoreminutes.”
It’stooearlyforfootballandthePhilsmustbeoutoftownbecausetheexpresswayisclear,notraffic.AdriantakestheexitforOregonAvenue.HekeepsglancingathisGPS,butfromthispointIcoulddirecthimblindfolded.Istillknoweveryroadandstopsignandtrafficlight.Alltheoldbusinessesarestillhere:thefast-foodplacesandthecheesesteakshops,theAsiansupermarketsandthecellphoneretailersandthesportsbar/stripclubthatrecruitedtwoofmyclassmatesstraightfromhighschool.NoonewasevergoingtomistakemyoldneighborhoodforSpringBrook.Theroadsarefullofpotholes;thesidewalksarelitteredwithbrokenglassandchickenbones.ButmanyoftherowhouseshavenewaluminumsidingandlookbetterthanIremember,likepeoplehavebeenmakinganefforttokeepeverythingnice.
AdrianstopsatthecornerofEighthandShunk.I’mguessinghefoundmyaddressonlinebecausewe’rerightinfrontoftheshortsquatrowhouseIusedtocallhome.Thebrickshavebeenrepointed,theshuttershaveafreshcoatofpaint,andthere’sbrightgreengrasswhereourwhitegravel“yard”usedtobe.Nexttothefrontdoorisamanstandingonaladder;he’swearingworkglovesandscoopingdeadleavesfromtheraingutters.
Adrianshiftsintoparkandturnsonhisflashers.Ihaven’tseenanyofmyneighborssincehighschoolandI’mafraidofbeingspotted.Thehousesareallpackedtighttogetherandit’seasytoimagineeveryoneopeningtheirdoorsandstreamingoutsidetogapeatme.
“Pleasejustdrive.”
“Isthiswhereyougrewup?”
“Youalreadyknowitis.”
“Who’sthemanontheladder?”
“Idon’tknow.Justdrive,allright?”
Themanturnstostudyus.He’smiddle-aged,balding,nottootallanddressedinanEaglesjersey.“Youneedsomething?”
I’veneverseenhimbefore.Maybemymotherhashiredahandyman.Morelikely,she’ssoldthehouseandmovedawayandthismanisthenewowner.IwaveanapologyandturntoAdrian.“Ifyoudon’tgorightnow,IamgettingoutofthistruckandwalkingbacktoSpringBrook.”
Heshiftsintodriveandwemovethroughthegreenlight.IdirecthimthroughtraffictoFDRPark,SouthPhilly’sgo-tospotforpicnics,birthdays,andweddingpartyphotography.Growingup,weallcalledit“theLakes,”becauseit’sspeckledwithpondsandlagoons.ThelargestoneisMeadowLakeandwefindabenchwithagoodviewofthewater.Offonthehorizon,againstthegraysky,wecanseetheelevatedroadwaysofInterstate95,sixlanesofcarshurtlingtoandfromtheairport.Andforalongtimewedon’tsayanything,becauseneitherofusknowswheretostart.
“Iwasn’tlyingaboutthescholarship,”Itellhim.“Inmyjunioryear,Irana5Kinseventeenminutes,fifty-threeseconds.Iwasthesixth-fastestgirlinPennsylvania.Youcangoogleit.”
“Ialreadygoogledit,Mallory.Thefirstdaywemet,IranhomeandsearchedforeveryMalloryQuinninPhiladelphia.Ifoundallyourhighschoolstats.Justenoughtomakeyourstoryfeelcredible.”Thenhelaughs.“ButnothingonTwitter,nothingonsocialmedia.Ithoughtitwascool—thisauraofmystery.ThegirlsatRutgers,they’reonInstagramtwenty-four/seven,postingglamourshotsandfishingforcompliments.Butyouweredifferent.Ithoughtyouwereconfident.Ineverimaginedyouwerehidingsomething.”
“Iwasmostlyhonest.”
“Mostly?Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Ionlyliedaboutmypast.Nothingelse.NotthepicturesfromAnya.AnddefinitelynotthewayIfeelaboutyou.Iwasgoingtotellyouthetruthlastnight,overdinner,Iswear.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything.Hejuststaresoutoverthelake.Somenearbykidsareplayingwithadrone;itlookslikeaminiatureUFOwitheightfuriouslyspinningpropellers,andeverytimeitpassesby,itsoundslikeaswarmofbees.IrealizeAdrianiswaitingformetocontinue,thathe’sgivingmethechancetocomeclean.Itakeadeepbreath.
“Allright,so—”
21
Allmyproblemsstartedwithasimplesacralstressfracture—atinybreakinthetriangle-shapedboneatthebaseofmyspine.ThiswasSeptemberofmysenioryearofhighschool,andtherecommendedtreatmentwaseightweeksofrest—rightatthestartofcross-countryseason.Itwasbadnewsbutnotacompletedisaster.Theinjurywascommonamongyoungwomenrunners,easilytreatable,andwouldn’timpactmyofferfromPennState.ThedoctorsprescribedOxyContinforthepain—asingleforty-milligramtablettwiceaday.EveryonesaidIwouldbefineforwintertrackinNovember.
IstillwenttoallthepracticesandIluggedaroundequipmentandhelpedtotallyeveryone’sscores—butitwashardtowatchmyteammatesfromthesidelines,knowingIshouldberunningalongsidethem.Plus,sinceIhadmoretimeonmyhands,mymotherexpectedmetodomorearoundthehouse.Morecookingandcleaningandshoppingandlookingaftermysister.
Momraisedussingle-handedly.Shewasshort,overweight,andshesmokedapackaday—eventhoughsheworkedatMercyHospital,asabillingadministrator,sosheknewallthehealthrisks.BethandIwerealwaysafterhertoquit,alwayshidingherNewportsunderthesofaorotherplacesshewouldneverlook.Shewouldjustgooutandbuynewones.Shesaidtheywerehercopingmechanism,thatweneededtogetoffhercase.Shewasalwaysquicktoreminduswehadnograndparents,noauntsoruncles,andtherewasdefinitelynosecondhusbandonthehorizon—sothethreeofushadtoshowupforeachother.Thatwasourbigrefraingrowingup:showingupforeachother.
ThreeorfourSaturdaysayear,thehospitalwouldsummonmymotherfor“SurpriseMandatoryOvertime”toplowthroughalltheoutstandingbillingdisputesthatnobodycouldmakesenseof.OneFridayeveningMomgotthecallandtoldusshehadtogotoworkthenextday.ThenshetoldmeIhadtodrivemysistertoStorybookLand.
“Me?Whyme?”
“BecauseIpromisedIwouldtakeher.”
“TakeherSunday.You’reoffSunday.”
“ButBethwantstobringChenguang,andChenguangcanonlygoSaturday.”
Chenguangwasmysister’sbestfriend,aweirdowithpinkhairwhodrewcatwhiskersonhercheeks.SheandBethwereinsomekindofanimeclub.
“I’vegotameettomorrow!InValleyForge.Iwon’tbebackuntilthree.”
“Skipthemeet,”mymothersaid.“You’renotrunning.Theteamdoesn’tneedyou.”
Itriedexplainingtomymotherthatmypresencedeliveredahugepsychologicalboosttomyteammates,butshewasn’tbuyingit.“You’redrivingBethandChenguang.”
“They’retoobigforStorybookLand!It’sakiddiepark!”
“They’regoingironically.”Mymotheropenedthebackdoor,litacigarette,andexhaledsmokethroughthescreen.“Theyknowthey’retoobigforit,that’swhytheywanttogo.”Sheshruggedlikethiswasaperfectlyrationalthingforpeopletodo.
Thenextmorning—Saturday,October7—Chenguangarrivedatourhousewearingayellowshirtwithaglitterywhiteunicornandfadedjeans.Shewaseatingabagofsourspaghettigummycandyandsheofferedmesome.IshookmyheadandsaidIwouldratherdie.BethcamedownstairsandshewaswearingthesameunicornT-shirtandthesamejeans.Apparentlytheyhadplannedthematchingoutfitsinadvance,anditwasallpartofourweirdfreakishadventure.
Iinsistedonleavingthehouseat9:00A.M.Myplanwastobeonthehighwaywhilemyteammateswererunning,andthencalltoheartheresultsassoonaswegottoStorybookLand.ButChenguanghadaspiderbitethatwouldn’tstopitching,sowehadtostopataWalgreenstogetBenadryl.Thissetusbackahalfhourandwedidn’tcrosstheWaltWhitmanBridgeuntilninethirty,didn’tmergeontotheAtlanticCityExpresswayuntilnineforty-five.Therewerethreelanesofcarshell-bentfortheJerseyshoreateightymilesanhour.IhadthewindowsrolleddownandQ102turneduploudsoIwouldn’thavetohearBethandChenguanggigglinginthebackseat.Theychatterednonstop,theywereconstantlyinterruptingandtalkingovereachother.Myphonewasrestingontheconsolebetweenthefrontseats.Ihaditcharginginthecigarettelighteradapter.Overthemusic,Icouldhearthechirpofanincomingtextmessage—andthenanotherandanother.IknewitwaslikelymyfriendLacey,whoneversentonetextwhenfivewouldsuffice.Thelaneaheadofmewasclear.Ilookeddownatmyphone,attheincomingnotificationsscrollingupmyscreen:
HOLYSHITOMFG!!!!!!!!youwontbelievewhoplaced3rd
Theclockonthedashread9:58.Irealizedthatthegirls’racemusthaveendedandLaceywasdutifullysendingmetheresults.Icheckedtheroadagain,thenliftedthephonewithonehand,enteredmypassword,andcarefullytypedmyreply:tellme.
Therewerethreeblinkingdotsonthesideofthescreen,signalingthatLaceywastypingaresponse.IrememberEdSheeranontheradiosingingaboutthecastleonthehill.AndIrememberglancingintotherearviewmirror.TherewasanSUVtailgatingme,theguywasrightuponmybumper,andwithoutreallythinking,Iaccelerated,toputalittledistancebetweenus.ThroughthemirrorIsawBethandChenguangsharingasinglestrandofgummispaghetti.TheywereeatingitfrombothendslikethedogsinLadyandtheTramp.Theyweregigglinglikelunatics,andIrememberthinking:Whatthehelliswrongwiththem?Howisthisnormalteenagebehavior?Andthenthephonepulsedinmypalm,signalingthatLaceyhadreplied.
AndthenitwasWednesdayandIwokeupinahospitalinVineland,NewJersey.Myleftlegwasbroken,Ihadthreecrackedribs,andmybodywastetheredtohalfadozenmonitorsandmachines.Mymotherwassittingbesidemybed,clutchingaspiralboundnotebook.ItriedtositupbutIcouldn’tmove.Iwassoconfused.Shestartedsayingthingsthatdidn’tmakesense.Therewasabicycleontheexpressway.SomefamilywashaulingbeachgearonthebackoftheirSUV,andthenamountainbikecameloose,andallthecarsswervedtoavoidit.Isaid,“Where’sBeth?”andherfacejustcollapsed.Andthat’swhenIknew.
Thedriverinfrontofmebrokehiscollarbone.EveryoneintheSUVbehindmehadvariousminorinjuries.Chenguangwalkedawayfromtheaccidentwithoutascratch.Mysisterwastheonlyfatality,butdoctorssaidIwasacloserunner-up.EveryonewasquicktosaythatIshouldn’tblamemyself,thatIdidn’tdoanythingwrong.Everyoneblamedthepurplewildflowersgrowingonthesideofthehighway.Ineverfoundoutwhoplacedthird.
AftertwoweeksIleftthehospitalwithanewprescriptionforOxyContintouse“asneededforpain,”butIfeltpainaroundtheclock,everyday,fromthemomentIwokeupuntiltheminuteIcollapsedintobed.ThepillsblunteditalittleandI’dbegthedoctorstorefilltheprescriptions—justtogetmethroughHalloween,throughThanksgiving,throughChristmas—butbyFebruaryIwaswalkingfineandtheycutmeoff.
ThehurtingwasworsethananythingI’deverexperienced.That’swhatpeopledon’tunderstandaboutOxyContin—oratleast,wedidn’treallyunderstanditbackthen.Overseveralmonths,thedrughadcompletelyrewiredmybrain,hijackingmoreandmoreofmypainreceptors,andnowIneededOxyContinsimplytoexist.Icouldn’tsleep,oreat,orfocusinclass.Andnoonewarnedmethiswasgoingtohappen.Noonetoldmetoexpectastruggle.
ThisiswhenIstartedleaningonmyclassmates—askingthemtosnoopintheirbathrooms,intheirparents’bedrooms.YouwouldbeshockedbyhowmanypeoplehaveOxyContinintheirhomes.Andwhenthosesourcesfinallydriedup,Ihadafriendwithaboyfriendwhoknewaguy.BuyingOxyfromadealerisaprettyeasythingtorationalize.Thesewere,afterall,theverysamepillsmydoctorshadrequiredmetotake.Iwasbuyingmedicine,notdrugs.Butthemarkupwasoutrageous,andwithinamonthIhaddepletedallmysavings.Ispentthreemiserabledayssufferingfromcoldsweatsandnauseabeforeoneofmynewpill-seekingfriendsintroducedmetoacheaperandmoresensiblealternative
HeroinissuchabigscarywordbutitfeelslikeOxyatafractionoftheprice.Youjusthavetogetpastanysqueamishnessregardingneedles.Fortunately,therewereplentyofYouTubevideostohelpmealong—tutorials(ostensiblyfordiabetics)showinghowtofindaveinandhowtogentlydrawbacktheplungeratjusttherightmoment,tomakesureyou’vemadecontactwiththebloodstream.AndonceIfiguredthatout,everythingturnedfrombadtoshit.
Ifinishedhighschool,barely,thankstosympatheticteacherswhofeltsorryforme.Butallthecoachesunderstoodwhatwashappening,andsomehowPennStateweaseledoutoftheiroffer.Theyblamedthecaraccidentandmyinjuries;theysaidnoamountofphysicaltherapywouldhavemereadybyfall,andIdon’trememberbeingdisappointed.Idon’tevenremembergettingthenews.Bythetimetheyreachedouttomymother,IwasalreadyspendingmynightsinNorthernLiberties,crashingonthesofaofmynewfriendIsaac,whohappenedtobethirty-eightyearsold.
TherewasalongstretchafterhighschoolwhereIlivedprimarilytotakedrugs,andtoobtainmoneytobuymoredrugs—anykindofdrugs.IfOxyandheroinwereunavailable,I’dsampleanythingonthemenu.Mymotherspentagreatdealoftimeandmoneytryingtohelpme,butIwasyoungandprettyandshewasoldandbrokeandfat;shedidn’tstandachance.Onedayshegotonthe17busandfoundherselfhavingaheartattack;shealmostdiedbeforetheambulancegothertothehospital.AndIdidn’tevenknowuntilsixmonthslater,untilIlandedinrehabandtriedcallingmymothertotellherthegoodnews.ShejustassumedIwantedmoneyandhungup.
Icalledbackacouplemoretimes,butsheneveranswered,soIlefttheselongramblingvoicemails,confessingthattheaccidentwasallmyfaultandapologizingforeverything.BythispointIwaslivingatSafeHarborandcompletelysoberbutofcourseshedidn’tbelieveme.Iwouldn’thavebelievedme,either.Finallyonedaythismanansweredthephone.HesaidhisnamewasTonyandhewasafriendofmymother’s,andshedidn’twanttohearfrommeanymore.AndthenexttimeIcalled,thenumberwasdisconnected.
Ihaven’tspokentomymotherintwoyears.I’mnotreallysurewhathappenedtoher.Still,IknowIhavemany,manyreasonstobethankful.I’mgratefulthatInevergotHIVorhepatitis.I’mgratefulIwasneverraped.I’mgratefultotheUberdriverwhorevivedmewithNarcanafterIpassedoutinthebackseatofherPrius.I’mgratefultothejudgewhosentmetorehabinsteadofprison.AndI’mgratefulImetRussell,thatheagreedtosponsormeandmotivatedmetostartrunningagain.Ineverwouldhavecomethisfarwithouthishelp.
Adriandoesn’tinterruptmystorywithquestions.HejustletsmetalkandtalkuntilIcanfinallygettomymainpoint:“I’malwaysgoingtofeelguiltyaboutwhathappened.Everyoneblamesthedriverwiththemountainbike.ButifIhadbeenpayingattention—”
“Youdon’tknowthat,Mallory.Maybeyoucouldhaveswervedoutoftheway,ormaybenot.”
ButIknowthatI’mright.
I’llalwaysknowI’mright.
IfIwentbackintimeanddideverythingover,Iwouldjustchangelanesorcutthewheelorslamonthebrakesandeverythingwouldstillbeokay.
“Weusedtoshareabedroom,didImentionthatalready?Wesleptinbunkbedsandwehatedit,wecomplainedtoourmotherallthetime.Wetoldherweweretheonlykidsonourblockwhohadtosharearoom,anditwasn’teventrue!Soanyway,aftertheaccident,thedayIleftthehospital,mymotherdrovemehomeandIwentupstairsand—”AndIcan’tevendescribetherest.Ican’ttellhimhowtheroomwastooquietwithoutBeth,howIcouldn’tsleepwithoutthesoundsofherbreathingandherrustlingsheets.
“Itmustbehard,”Adriansays.
“Imisshersomuch.Everyday.Maybethat’swhyIliedtoyou,Adrian,Idon’tknow.ButIswearIneverliedaboutanythingelse.Ididn’tlieaboutmyfeelingsandIdidn’tlieaboutthepictures.Ihavenomemoryofdrawingthem.ButIguessImusthave.Iknowit’stheonlylogicalexplanation.I’mleavingSpringBrookonMonday.I’mgoingtolivewithmysponsorforacoupleweeks.Trytogetmyheadscrewedonright.I’msorryforbeingsuchapsycho.”
We’vereachedthepartoftheconversationwhereIhopeAdrianwillsaysomething—maybenot“Iforgiveyou,”Iknowthat’saskingfortoomuch,butatleastsomeacknowledgmentthatI’vejustbaredmysoul,thatI’vesharedastoryI’veneversharedtoanyoneoutsideofanNAmeeting.
Instead,hestandsandsays,“Weshouldgetgoing.”
Wewalkacrossthegrasstowardtheparkinglot.TherearethreelittleboysplayingnexttoAdrian’struck,pointingfinger-gunsandfiringimaginarybullets.Aswegetcloser,theyallsprintacrosstheasphaltparkinglot,whoopingandholleringandwavingtheirarmslikemaniacs.TheyremindmeoftheboysattheBigPlayground.They’reallaroundfiveorsixyearsoldandthey’renothinglikequietandintrospectiveTeddy,alwaysreachingforhispicturebooksandsketchpads.
Adriandoesn’tsayanythinguntilwe’reinsidehistruck.Hestartstheengineandturnsontheair-conditioningbutdoesn’tshiftintodrive.“Listen,whenIleftyourhouseyesterday,Iwasprettypissedoff.Notbecauseyouliedtome—thatwasbadenough.Butyouliedtomyparentsandalltheirfriends.It’sreallyembarrassing,Mallory.Idon’tknowhowIcanevertellthem.”
“Iknow,Adrian.I’msorry.”
“Buthere’sthething:AfterIleftyourhouseyesterday,Icouldn’tgobackhome.MyparentsknewallaboutourdateandIdidn’twanttoseethem,Ididn’twanttotellthemitwasabust.SoinsteadIwenttothemovies.ThisnewMarvelthingwasplayinganditseemedlikeagoodwaytokillsometime.Iactuallystayedandwatchedittwice,soIcouldgethomeaftermidnight.AndwhenIfinallywentupstairstomybedroom,thiswaswaitingonmydesk.”
Hereachedacrossthefrontseatandopenedtheglovebox,revealingasheetofpapercoveredindarkpencil.
“Nowyouwanttotalkaboutfeelingcrazy?Iguessit’spossibleyousneakedintomyhouseandfoundmybedroomandleftthisdrawingonmydeskwhilemyparentswerehomeallnight?Iguessit’salsopossiblethatfive-year-oldTeddysneakedintomyhouse?Orhisparents?ButIdon’tthinkso,Mallory.”Adrianshakeshishead.“Ithinkthemostlikelyexplanationisthatyou’vebeenrightallalong.Anyaisdrawingthesepictures.Andshewantsmetoknowyou’retellingthetruth.”
22
WedrivebacktoSpringBrookandgetrightdowntobusiness.IgraballthedrawingsthatIfoundinmycottage,plusthethreepicturesItookfromTeddy’sbedroom.Adrianhastheonedrawingleftonhisdesk,plusallhisphotographsoftheMaxwells’den.He’salreadyoutputtheimagesonaninkjetprintersowecanaddthemtothesequence.Therearelessthanforty-eighthoursbeforeRussellcomestopickmeup—andbeforethathappens,I’mdeterminedtoconvincetheMaxwellswe’retellingthetruth.
Wearrangeallthepicturesonthepoolpatio,usingstonesorpinchesofloosegraveltoholdtheminplace.Thenwespendhalfanhourmovingthemaround,tryingtoarrangetheminorder,lookingforsomekindofnarrativethatmakessense.
Aftermuchtrialanderror,wearriveatthis:
“Thefirstpictureisthehot-airballoon,”Ibegin.“We’reinsomekindofparkorfield.Anareawithalotofwide-openspace.Bigskies.”
“SodefinitelynotSpringBrook,”Adriansays.“There’stoomuchairtrafficoutofPhilly.”
“Weseeawomanpaintingapictureofthehot-airballoon.Let’sassumefornowthisisAnya.Judgingfromhersleevelessdress,I’mguessingit’ssummer,ormaybewe’reinawarmerclimate.”
“There’sagirlnearby,playingwithtoys.PossiblyAnya’sdaughter.TeddymentionedAnyahasadaughter.Itdoesn’tseemlikeAnyaiswatchingherclosely.”
“Thenalongcomesawhiterabbit.”
“Thelittlegirlisintrigued.She’splayingwithastuffedrabbit,butherecomesarealone.”
“Soshefollowstherabbitdownintoavalley…”
“…butAnyadoesn’tnoticethegirlwalkingaway.She’stooabsorbedinherwork.Butyoucanseethelittlegirloffonthehorizon.Leavinghertoysbehind.Doesthatallmakesensesofar?”
“Ithinkso,”Adriansays.
“Good,becausehere’swhereitgetsconfusing.Somethinggoeswrong.Therabbitisgone,thegirllookslost.Shemightbehurt.Shemightevenbedead.Becauseinthenextpicture…”
“She’sapproachedbyanangel.”
“Andtheangelleadsthelittlegirltowardthelight.”
“Butsomeone’stryingtostopthem.Someone’schasingafterthem.”
“It’sAnya,”Adriansays.“It’sthesamewhitedress.”
“Exactly.She’srunningtosaveherlittlegirl,tostopherfrombeingtakenaway.”
“ButAnya’stoolate.Theangelwon’tgiveherback.”
“Orcan’tgiveherback,”Adriansays.
“Exactly.Nowherecomesagap.”
“Theangelandthechildaregone.Wedon’tseethemanymore.AndnowsomeoneisstranglingAnya.Thisistheonepieceofthepuzzlewe’restillmissing.”
“Timepasses.It’snighttime.Anya’seaselisabandoned.”
“Amanarrivesintheforest,carryingtools.Theylooklikeapickandashovel.”
“ThemandragsAnya’sbodythroughtheforest…”
“Heuseshisshoveltodigahole…”
“Andthenheburiesthebody.”
“SothemanstrangledAnya,”Adriansays.
“Notnecessarily.”
“Hemovesherbody.Heburiesher.”
“Butthestorystartsinthedaytime.Themandoesn’tshowupuntillater,untildark.”
Adrianstartsmovingthepicturesaroundagain—arrangingtheminadifferentsequence—butI’vetriedeverypossibleorder,andthisistheonlyonethatcomesclosetomakingsense.
Exceptsomething’sstillmissing.It’slikethefeelingofworkingthroughajigsawpuzzle,puttingthewholescenetogether,onlytodiscovertheboxhasthreeorfourmissingpieces,andthey’reallrightinthemiddle.
Adrianthrowsuphishands.“Whydoesn’tshejustspellitoutforus?Skipthestupidpicturesandusewords?‘MynameisRumpelstiltskin.Iwasmurderedbythearchduke.’Orwhoever.Whyisshebeingsocryptic?”
He’sjustventing,butIrealizeI’veneverstoppedtoaskmyselfthisquestion:WhyisAnyabeingsocryptic?
InsteadofusingTeddytodrawpictures,whynotusewords?Whynotwritealetter?Unless—
Ithinkbacktoalltheone-sidedconversationsIoverheardinTeddy’sbedroom—alltheguessinggameshewouldplayduringQuietTime.“TeddysaysAnyatalksfunny.Hesaysshe’shardtounderstand.Whatifshedoesn’tspeakEnglish?”
Adrianseemsreadytodismisstheidea,butthenhereachesforthelibrarybook—TheCollectedWorksofAnneC.Barrett.“Allright,let’sthinkthisthroughforaminute.WeknowAnniecamefromEuropeafterWorldWarII.Maybeshedoesn’tspeakEnglish.MaybeBarrettisn’tevenherrealname.Maybeit’sawesternizedversionofsomethinglikeBaryshnikov,oneofthoselongimpossible-to-pronounceEasternEuropeannames.Andthefamilychangedit,justtoblendin.”
“Exactly,”Itellhim,warmingtothetheory.“Georgewriteslikehe’sbeenintheUnitedStatesforalongtime.He’salreadyassimilated.He’sadeaconatthechurch,he’sanaldermanonthetowncouncil.ButsuddenlyhisBohemiancousinshowsupinSpringBrook.She’sareminderofwherehe’sfrom,andhe’sashamedofher.Hisletterinthebookissocondescending,allhistalkaboutherslightachievementsandherfoolishness.”
Adriansnapshisfingers.“Andthisexplainsthespiritboard!Yousaidheranswersweregibberish!Youcalledthemalphabetsoup.Butwhatifshewasspellinginadifferentlanguage?”
Ithinkbacktothegathering—tothefeelingofbeingentombedinsidethecottage,withtheplanchettetremblingbeneathmyfingertips.
Iknewweweren’talone.
Iknewsomeonewasmovingmyhandandchoosingeachletterverydeliberately.
“Mitziwroteeverythingdown,”Itellhim.
WewalkacrossthebackyardtoMitzi’shouse.Irapmyknucklesonthefrontdoorbutthere’snoanswer.Thenwewalkaroundtothebackofthehouse,totherearentranceusedbyherclients.Thebackdoorisopenandwecanseethroughthescreendoorintothekitchen,totheFormicatablewhereMitziservedmecoffee.IbangonthescreendoorandtheKit-CatKlockstaresbackatme,itstailwagging.IcanheartheTVplayinginsidethehouse,someinfomercialforcommemorativegolddollars:“Thesecoinsarehighlyprizedbycollectors,andguaranteedtoholdtheirvalue.…”
IshoutMitzi’sname,butthere’snowayshe’llhearmeoverthesalespitch.
Adriantriesthehandleandthedoorisunlocked.“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Ithinkshe’sparanoidandsheownsagun.Ifwesneakuponher,there’sagoodchanceshe’llblowourheadsoff.”
“There’salsoachanceshe’shurt.Maybesheslippedintheshower.Ifanoldpersondoesn’tcometotheirdoor,you’resupposedtocheckonthem.”
Iknockagainbutstillnoanswer.
“Let’scomebacklater.”
ButAdrianinsistsonopeningthedoorandcallingtoher:“Mitzi,areyouokay?”
Hestepsinside,andwhatelsecanIdo?It’salreadypastthreeo’clockandthedayispassingtooquickly.IfMitzihasinformationthatcanhelpus,weneeditassoonaspossible.Iholdthedooropenandfollowhimintothehouse.
Thekitchenstinks.Itsmellslikethetrashneedstobetakenout,ormaybeit’sallthedirtydishespiledupinthesink.There’safryingpanonthestovetopfilledwithcongealedbacongrease.Therearetinypawprintsscatteredacrossthesurface,andIdon’twanttothinkaboutalltheverminthatmightbelivingbehindthewalls.
IfollowAdrianintothelivingroom.TheTVistunedtoFoxNewsandthehostsarearguingwithaguestaboutthelatestthreatstoAmericansecurity.They’reshoutingateachother—shoutingovereachother—soIgrabtheremoteandmutethevolume.
“Mitzi?It’sMallory.Canyouhearme?”
Stillnoanswer.
“Maybeshewentoutforabit,”Adriansays.
Andleftthebackdooropen?Noway,notMitzi.Imovetowardthebackofthehouseandcheckthebathroom—nothing.AtlastIcometothedoorofMitzi’sbedroom.Iknockseveraltimes,callinghername,andthenfinallyopenit.
Insidethebedroom,theshadesaredrawn,thebedisunmade,andthereareclothesalloverthefloor.TheairissourandstaleandI’mafraidtotouchanything.Thedoorbangsagainstawickerwastebasket,knockingthebasinonitsside,andcrumpledwadsofKleenextumbleout.
“Anything?”Adrianasks.
Igetdownonmykneesandlookunderthebedjusttobesure.There’smoredirtylaundrybutnoMitzi.
“She’snothere.”
AsIstandup,InoticethesurfaceofMitzi’snightstand.AlongwithalampandatelephoneIseeahandfulofcottonballs,abottleofrubbingalcohol,andalengthoflatextourniquet
“Whatisit?”Adrianasks.
“Idon’tknow.Probablynothing.Weshouldgo.”
WewalkbacktothelivingroomandAdrianfindsthenotepadonthesofa,tuckedbeneaththeheavywoodenspiritboard.
“That’sit,”Itellhim.
Iflippastshoppinglistsandto-doitemsbeforearrivingatthelastusedpage—hernotesfromtheséance.Iripthepagefromthepad,thenshowittoAdrian.
ItookSpanishinhighschoolandIhadfriendswhotookFrenchandMandarin,butthesewordsdon’tlooklikeanylanguageI’veeverseen.“ThenameAnyasoundsRussian,”Adriansays.“ButI’mprettysurethisisn’tRussian.”
ItakeoutmyphoneandgoogleIGENXOjusttobecertain—anditmightbethefirsttimeI’vegoogledaphrasethatdoesn’treturnasingleresult.
“IfGoogledoesn’tknowit,it’sdefinitelynotaword.”
“Maybeit’ssomekindofcryptogram,”Adriansays.“Oneofthosepuzzleswhereeveryletterissubstitutedbyadifferentletter.”
“Wejustdecidedshecan’tspeakEnglish,”Itellhim.“Doyoureallythinkshe’smakingupbrainteasers?”
“They’renotcomplicatedifyouknowallthetricks.Givemeaminute.”HegrabsapencilandsitsdownonMitzi’ssofa,determinedtocrackthecode.
Istartpokingaroundthelivingroom,tryingtoimaginewhyMitzileftthehousewithherTVonandherbackdooropen,whensomethingcrunchesbeneathmysneaker.ItsoundslikeI’vesteppedonabeetle,somesmallinsectwithahardbrittleshell.Iliftmyfootandseethatit’sactuallyathinplastictube,orangeandcylindrical,aboutthree
IliftitoffthefloorandAdrianlooksupfromhiswork.
“Whatisthat?”
“Acapforahypodermicneedle.Ithinkshe’sbeeninjectingherself.Hopefullywithinsulin,butthisisMitziwe’retalkingaboutsowhoknows.”AsImovearoundtheroom,Idiscoverthreemoreneedlecaps—onabookshelf,inawastebasket,onawindowsill.Whenyoufactorintherubbertourniquet,I’mprettysurewecanruleoutdiabetes.
“Areyoufinishedyet?”
IlookdownatAdrian’snotepadanditdoesn’tseemlikehe’smadeanyprogress.
“Thisisatoughone,”headmits.“NormallyyoulookforthemostfrequentletterandyoureplaceitwithE.Inthiscase,therearefourXs,butwhenIchangethemtoEs,itdoesn’thelpany.”
Ithinkhe’swastinghistime.IfI’mrightaboutAnya’slanguagebarrier—andI’mprettysureIam—thencommunicatinginEnglishwouldbeenoughofachallenge.Shewouldn’ttrywritingincode.She’dwanttomakethingseasierforus,notharder.She’dtrytomakehermessageclearer.
“Givemeanotherminute,”hesays.
Andthenthere’saknockatthebackdoor.
“Hello?Anybodyhome?”
It’saman’svoice,unfamiliar.
MaybeoneofMitzi’scustomers,visitingtohavehisenergyread?
Adrianstuffsthesheetofnotepaperintohispocket.Andwhenweenterthekitchen,Iseethemanatthebackdooriswearingapoliceuniform.
“I’mgonnaneedyoutostepoutside.”
23
Thecopisyoung—hecan’tbeolderthantwenty-five—withabuzzcut,darksunglasses,andenormousarmscoveredintattoos.There’snotaninchofbareskinanywherebetweenhiswristsandhisshirtsleeves—it’sallStarsandStripes,BaldEagles,andpassagesfromtheConstitution.
“WewerecheckingonMitzi,”Adrianexplains.“Herdoorwasopenbutshe’snothere.”
“Soyouwhat?Youjustwalkedinside?Thoughtyoucouldtakealookaround?”Heoffersthistheorylikeit’spreposterous,eventhoughit’sexactlywhathappened.“Iwantyoutoopenthedoorandslowlystepoutside,doyouunderstand?”
Irealizetherearetwomorecopsattheedgeoftheyard,stretchinglongribbonsofyellowtapefromtreetotree.Fartherout,deeperintheforest,Icanseeflashesofmovement,jacketswithreflectivesurfaces.Icanhearmenshoutingdiscoveriestoeachother.
“What’sgoingon?”Adrianasks.
“Handsonthewall,”thecopsays.
“Areyouserious?”
Adrianisshocked—clearly,thisishisfirstexperiencebeingfrisked.
“Justdoit,”Itellhim.
“Thisisbullshit,Mallory.You’rewearinggymshorts!You’renotconcealingaweapon.”
Butjustthementionoftheword“weapon”seemstoescalatetheconfrontation.Nowthetwocopswiththeyellowtapearewalkingtowarduswithconcernedexpressions.IjustfollowtheinstructionsanddowhatI’mtold.Ipressmypalmsagainstthebrickwall;Ilowermyheadandstaredownatthegrasswhilethecoppatsmywaistwithhishands.
Adriangrudginglystandsbesidemeandplantshispalmsonthewall.“Absolutebullshit.”
“Shutup,”thecoptellshim.
AndifIwasn’tafraidtospeak,IwouldtellAdrianthecopisactuallybeingnice—I’veknowncopsinPhiladelphiawhowouldhaveyoupinned,cuffed,andfacedowningravelinthetimeittakestosayhello.Adrianseemstothinkhedoesn’thavetolistentothem,thathe’ssomehowabovethelaw.
Thenamanandawomancomewalkingaroundthesideofthehouse.Themanistallandwhiteandthewomanisshortandblackandthey’rebothalittlepudgyandoutofshape.Theyremindmeofmyhighschoolguidancecounselors.They’redressedinbusinessattirethat’sstraightofftheracksatMarshallsorTJMaxx,andtheybothhavedetectiveshieldshangingfromtheirnecks.
“Aw,Darnowsky,comeon,”themancallsout.“Whatareyoudoin’tothatgirl?”
“Shewasinthehouse!Yousaidthevictimlivedalone.”
“Victim?”Adrianasks.“IsMitziokay?”
Insteadofansweringourquestions,theyseparateus.ThemaledetectiveleadsAdrianacrosstheyardwhilethewomanencouragesmetositdownatarustywrought-ironpatiotable.Sheunzipsherfannypack,removesatinofAltoids,andpopsoneintohermouth.Thensheoffersmetheopenbox,butIdecline.
“I’mDetectiveBriggsandmypartnerisDetectiveKohr.OuryoungassociatewiththecircustattoosisOfficerDarnowsky.Iapologizeforhisexuberance.Thisisourfirstdeadbodyinawhile,soeverybody’sjumpy.”
“Mitzi’sdead?”
“I’mafraidso.Couplekidsfoundheranhourago.Lyinginthewoods.”Shepointstotheforest.“Youcouldseeherfromhere,ifthesetreesweren’tintheway.”
“Whathappened?”
“Let’sstartwithyourname.Whoareyou,wheredoyoulive,andhowdoyouknowMitzi?”
Ispellmynameandshowhermydriver’slicenseandthenpointacrosstheyardtomycottage.IexplainthatIworkforthefamilynextdoor.“TedandCarolineMaxwell.I’mtheirbabysitter,andIliveintheirguesthouse.”
“Wereyousleepinginthecottagelastnight?”
“Isleepthereeverynight.”
“Didyouhearanythingunusual?Anynoises?”
“No,butIwenttobedearly.Anditwasraininghard,Irememberthatmuch.WithallthewindandthunderIcouldn’thearanything.WhendoyouthinkMitzi—”Ican’tbringmyselftosaytheword“died”;Istillcan’tbelieveMitziisactuallydead.
“We’rejustgettingstartedhere,”Briggssays.“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”
“Notyesterdaybutthedaybefore.Thursdaymorning.Shecametomycottagearoundeleventhirty.”
“Whatfor?”
ItsoundsembarrassingwhenIsayitoutloud,butItellherthetruth,anyway.“Mitziwasapsychic.Shehadatheorymycottagewashaunted.Soshebroughtoverherspiritboard—it’slikeaOuijaboard?Andwetriedtomakecontact.”
Briggsseemsamused.“Diditwork?”
“I’mnotsure.Wegotsomelettersbuttheydon’tmakealotofsense.”
“Didshechargeyou?”
“No,sheofferedtohelpforfree.”
“Andwhattimedidyoufinish?”
“Oneo’clock.I’msureaboutthatbecauseAdrianwashere,too.Onhislunchbreak.Hehadtoleavetogetbacktowork.AndthatwasthelasttimeIsawher.”
“Doyourememberwhatshewaswearing?”
“Graypants,purpletop.Longsleeves.Everythingverylooseandflowy.Andlotsofjewelry—rings,necklaces,bracelets.Mitzialwayswearslotsofjewelry.”
“That’sinteresting.”
“Why?”
Briggsshrugs.“She’snotwearinganynow.She’snotevenwearingshoes.Justanightgown.WasMitzithesortofwomanwho’dgowalkingoutsideinhernightgown?”
“No,I’dactuallysayshe’stheopposite.Sheputalotofeffortintoherappearance.Itwasaweirdlookbutit’sherlook,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Couldshehavehaddementia?”
“No.Mitziworriedaboutalotofdifferentthings,buthermindwassharp.”
“Sowhywereyouinsideherhousejustnow?”
“Well,thiswillprobablysoundstupid,butIhadaquestionabouttheséance.Wewonderedifmaybethespiritwasusingadifferentlanguage,andthat’swhythelettersdidn’tspellanything.WewantedtoaskMitziifthatwasapossibility.ThebackdoorwasopensoIknewshehadtobehome.Adrianthoughtshemightbehurt,sowewentinthehousetoseeifshewasokay.”
“Didyoutouchanything?Didyouhandleanyofherpossessions?”
“Iopenedherbedroomdoor.Toseeifshewassleeping.AndIguessImutedherTV.Shehaditgoingsoloud,wecouldn’thearanythingelse.”
Briggslooksdowntomywaist,andIrealizeshe’sstudyingmypockets.“Didyoutakeanythingfromthehouse?”
“No,ofcoursenot.”
“Thenwouldyoumindturningyourpocketsinsideout?Ibelieveyou’retellingthetruth,butit’sbetterforeveryoneifIcheck.”
I’mgladthatAdriankeptthenotesfromtheséance,soIdon’thavetolieaboutthem.
“Thoseareallmyquestionsrightnow,”shesays.“Doyouhaveanyinformationthatmighthelpme?”
“IwishIdid.Doyouknowwhathappened?”
Sheshrugs.“There’snosignofinjury.Idon’tthinkanyonehurther.Andwhenyoufindthebodyofanoldpersonoutdoors?Dressedintheirnightclothes?Usuallyit’ssomekindofmedicationerror.Theymixeduptheirpillsortookadoubledose.Didsheevermentionanyprescriptions?”
“No,”Itellher,whichisthehonestanswer.I’mtemptedtomentiontheneedlecapsandthetourniquetandthepungentodorofburnedropethattrailedMitzilikeacloud.ButsurelyBriggswilldiscoverallthesethingsonherown,afterashort′tourofthehouse.
“Well,Iappreciateyourtime.AndwouldyoumindsendingovertheMaxwells?TedandCaroline?Iwanttospeaktoalltheneighbors.”
Iexplainthatthey’vegonetothebeachfortheday,butIpassalongtheircellphonenumbers.“Theydidn’tknowMitziwell,butI’msurethey’llhelpiftheycan.”
Sheturnstoleave—thenthinksbetterofitandstops.“Thislastquestionisalittleoff-topicbutIhavetoknow:Who’stheghostyouweretryingtoreach?”
“HernamewasAnnieBarrett.Supposedlyshelivedinmycottage.Backinthe1940s.Peoplesay—”
Briggsstartsnodding.“Oh,IknowallaboutAnnieBarrett.I’malocalgirl,IgrewupinCorrigan,ontheothersideofthesewoods.Butmydaddyalwayssaidthatstorywasafishtale.Thatwashiswayofdescribingatrumped-upstory,likeawhopper.”
“AnnieBarrettwasreal.Ihaveabookofherpaintings.EveryoneinSpringBrookknowsabouther.”
DetectiveBriggsseemsinclinedtodisagreebutinsteadsheholdshertongue.“I’mnotgoingtospoilagoodstory.Especiallywhenthere’sanevenbiggermysteryoutinthosewoodsrightnow.”Shehandsmeabusinesscard.“Ifyouthinkofanythingelse,callme.”
AdrianandIspendthenexthourorsosittingoutbythepool,watchingthecircusinMitzi’sbackyardandwaitingfornewdevelopments.It’sclearlyahugedealforSpringBrookbecausethebackyardisteemingwithcops,firefighters,EMTs,andamanwhomAdrianidentifiesasthemayor.Nooneseemstobedoingverymuch;it’sjustalotofpeopletalkingandstandingaround.Buteventuallyfoursomber-facedEMTsemergefromtheforestcarryingazipperedpolyvinylbagonastretcher,andsoonafterthatthecrowdstartstothin.
CarolinecallsfromtheshoretoseehowI’mdoing.Shesaysshe’salreadyheardfromDetectiveBriggsandsheisabsolutely“wrecked”bythenews.“ImeanobviouslyIdidn’tlikethewomanverymuch.ButIwouldn’twishthiskindofdeathonanyone.Havetheyfiguredoutwhathappened?”
“Theythinkitmightbeamedicationerror.”
“Doyouwanttoknowthestrangestthing?WeactuallyheardMitziyellingThursdaynight.TedandIweresittingoutbythepool.Wewerehavingabitofanargument,whichIguessyoualreadyknow.ThenallofasuddenweheardMitzishoutingatsomeoneinherhouse.Tellingthemtogetout,sayingthepersonwasn’twelcome.Wecouldheareverythingshewassaying.”
“Whatdidyoudo?”
“Iwasallsettocallthepolice.Ihadactuallycalled911andthephonewasringing.ButthenMitzicameoutside.Shewasdressedinhernightgown,andhervoicehadtotallychanged.Shewascallingaftertheperson,askingthepersontowaitforher.‘Iwanttocomewithyou,’shesaid.Anditseemedlikethingswerefineagain,soIhungupthephoneandforgotaboutit.”
“Didyouseetheotherperson?”
“No,Ijustassumeditwasacustomer.”
Thisseemsunlikelytome.Idon’tthinkMitziwelcomedcustomersintoherhomeafterdark.ThefirsttimeIwenttoseeher,itwasonlyseveno’clockatnight,andsheaskedwhyIwasbangingonherdoorsolate.
“Look,Mallory,doyouwantustocomehomeearly?Ifeelbadthatyou’realone,thatyou’redealingwiththisbyyourself.”
IdecidenottomentionthatAdrianisseatedpoolsidewithme,studyingthenoteswecollectedfromMitzi’shouse,stilldeterminedtodecodethem.
“I’mfine,”Itellher.
“Areyousure?”
“Stayaslongasyouwant.IsTeddyhavingfun?”
“He’ssadyou’releaving,buttheoceanisanicedistraction.”IcanhearTeddyinthebackground,veryexcited,shriekingaboutsomethinghe’scapturedinhissandpail.“Hangon,sweetie,I’mtalkingtoMallory—”
ItellhertogohavefunandnotworryaboutmeandIhangupthephone.ThenIrelaythewholeconversationtoAdrian—particularlythepartaboutMitzi’smysteriouslate-nightvisitor.
Icantellfromhisreactionthatwearebothcirclingthesameconclusion,andwe’retoonervoustosayitoutloud
“YouthinkitwasAnya?”heasks.
“Mitziwouldneverseeacustomerinhernightgown.Withoutherjewelry.Shewaswaytoovainaboutherappearance.”
AdrianlookstoallthecopsandEMTsstillmillingaroundthewoods.“Sowhatdoyouthinkhappened?”
“Ihavenoidea.I’vebeentellingmyselfthatAnyaisnonviolent,thatshe’ssomekindofbenevolentspirit,butthat’sjustaguess.AllIreallyknowisthatshewasbrutallymurdered.Someonedraggedherbodythroughaforestanddumpedherinaditch.Maybeshe’spissedoffandwantsrevengeagainsteverybodywholivesinSpringBrook.AndMitzi’sthefirstpersonshewentafter.”
“Okay,butwhynow?Mitzi’slivedhereseventyyears.WhydidAnyawaitallthistimetogoonherrampage?”
It’safairquestion.Ihavenoidea.Adrianchewsonthetipofhispencilandreturnshisattentiontothejumbleofletters,liketheymighthaveanswerstoallourquestions.Atthehousenextdoor,thecircusisslowlywindingdown.Thefiredepartmentisgoneandalltheneighborshavewanderedaway.Therearejustafewcopsleft,andthelastthingtheydoissealthebackdoorwithtwolongstripsofyellowDONOTCROSStape.Theyintersectinthemiddle,formingagiantX,abarrierbetweenthehouseandtheoutsideworld.
ThenIglancedownatMitzi’snotes,andthesolutionissuddenlyobvious.
“TheXs,”ItellAdrian.“They’renotXs.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Anyaknewwedidn’tspeakherlanguage.SosheputXsbetweenthewords.Likebarriers.They’respaces,notletters.”
“Where?”
Itakethepencilfromhimandrecopytheletters,placingeachwordonitsownline.
“Nowthatlookslikealanguage,”Itellhim.“SomethingSlavic.Russian?MaybePolish?”
AdrianopenshisphoneandinputsthefirstwordintoGoogleTranslate.Theresultsareinstantaneous:IgenistheHungarianwordfor“yes.”Fromthere,it’seasytotranslatetheentiremessage:YESXBEWAREXTHIEFXHELPXFLOWER.
“HelpFlower?”Adrianasks.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Idon’tknow.”IthinkbacktothedrawingsthatIpulledfromtherecyclingbin—wasn’tthereapageofflowersinbloom?“Butthisdefinitelyexplainswhyshe’susingpictures.HernativelanguageisHungarian.”
Adrianopenshisphoneandtakesasnapshot.“YouneedtotextthistoCaroline.It’sproofyou’renotmakingthingsup.”
IwishIhadhisconfidence.“Thisdoesn’tproveanything.It’sjustabunchoflettersthatanyonecouldhavewrittenonpaper.She’llaccusemeofbuyingaHungariandictionary.”
ButAdrianisundaunted.Hekeepsrereadingthewords,likehe’shopingtofindsomedeepersecondarymeaningtothem.“Youneedtobecareful,youneedtobewareofthethief.Butwho’sthethief?Whatdidhesteal?”
Therearesomanypiecestothepuzzle,myheadisstartingtohurt.Ifeellikewe’retryingtojamasquarepegintoaroundhole—ortoforceaveryeasysolutiononaverycomplicatedproblem.I’mtryingsohardtofocusandthink,I’mannoyedwhenmycellphonestartstoring,shatteringmyconcentration.
ButthenIseethenameonthecallerID.
TheRestHavenRetirementCommunityinAkron,Ohio.
24
“IsthatMallory?”
“Yes?”
“Hi,thisisJalissaBellatRestHavenAkron.YoucalledhereyesterdayforMrs.Campbell?”
“Right,canIspeakwithher?”
“Well,it’scomplicated.IcouldputMrs.Campbellonthephone,butyouwouldn’thavemuchofaconversation.Shehaslate-stagedementia.I’vebeenhercaregiverthreeyearsandmostmorningsshewon’trecognizeme.Ireallydoubtshecanansweryourquestions.”
“Ijustneedsomebasicinformation.Isthereachanceyouknowhermother’sname?”
“I’msorry,hon,Idon’t.ButevenifIdid,Iwouldn’tbeabletotellyou.”
“Hassheevermentionedaninheritance?ReceivingalargesumofmoneyfromanAuntJean?”
Shelaughs.“Nowthat’ssomethingIdefinitelycouldn’ttellyou.There’sprivacylaws!I’dlosemyjob.”
“Ofcourse.I’msorry.”
Iguessshecanhearthedesperationinmyvoice,becausesheoffersacompromise:“Wehavevisitinghourstomorrow,noontofour.IfyoureallywanttotalktoMrs.Campbell,youcanstopby,andI’llintroduceyou.Visitorsaregoodforthepatients.Itkeepstheirbrainsactive,getsthoseneuronsfiring.Justdon’tcomewithhighexpectations,okay?”
Ithankherforhertimeandhangup.AkronisagoodsixhoursawayandIonlyhavetonightandtomorrowtoconvincetheMaxwellsthatI’mtellingthetruth.IexplaineverythingtoAdrianandheagreesthatIshouldn’twasteanytimechasingdownlongshots.
Ifthere’sasolutiontomyproblem,I’mgoingtohavetofinditrighthereinSpringBrook.
Attheendoftheday,wewalkintotowntotheBistro,asmallsit-downrestaurantthatservesallthesamefoodthatyou’dgetinagoodJerseydiner,butthere’ssoftinteriorlighting,afullbar,andajazztrio,soeverythingcoststwiceasmuchasyou’dexpect.Andthenafterdinnerwewalkaimlesslyaroundtheneighborhoodbecauseneitherofusisreadytocallitanight.Adrianinsistshe’llcomevisitmeinNorristown,andhesaysofcourseI’mwelcometohangoutinSpringBrookasmuchasIwant.ButIknowit’sgoingtofeeldifferentwithoutthejob—I’llfeellikeanoutsider,likeIdon’tbelonghereanymore.IjustwishtherewassomewaytoconvincetheMaxwellsIwastellingthetruth.
Adriantakesmyhandandsqueezesit.
“Maybetherewillbenewpictureswhenwegetbacktothecottage,”hesays.“Newcluestohelpusmakesenseofeverything.”
ButwithTeddyawayatthebeachallday,Ithinkit’sunlikely.“Anyacan’tdrawonherown,”Iremindhim.“Sheneedshands.Sheneedstoworkthroughamedium.”
“Thenmaybeyoushouldvolunteer.Giveherachancetofinishthesequence.”
“Howwouldthatwork?”
“Wegobacktoyourcottage,youcloseyoureyes,andinvitehertotakeover.Itworkedyesterday,didn’tit?”
Justthinkingabouttheepisodeinthedenmakesmeshiver.“That’snotsomethingI’manxioustoexperienceagain.”
“I’llsitnearbyandmakesureyou’resafe.”
“Youwanttowatchmesleep?”
Helaughs.“Ifyouputitlikethat,itsoundscreepy.I’mofferingtostayandmakesureyou’reokay.”
Idon’treallylovetheidea,butit’sgettinglateandI’mrunningoutofoptions.Adrianseemsconvincedthere’soneormorepicturesmissingfromthesequence—andwithTeddyawayforthewholeday,someoneneedstovolunteertheirtimeandhands,soAnyacanfinishtellingherstory.
“WhatifIfallasleepandnothinghappens?”
“Icouldwaitanhourandslipoutthedoor.OrifyoupreferIcould—”Heshrugs.“Icouldstayuntilmorning.”
“Idon’twanttosleepwithyoutonight.It’stoosoon.”
“Iknow,Mallory.Ijustwanttohelp.I’llcrashonyourfloor.”
“PlusI’mnotallowedtohaveovernightguests.It’soneoftheHouseRules.”
“Butyou’vealreadybeenfired,”Adrianremindsme.“Idon’tthinkweneedtoplaybytheirrulesanymore.”
WestopatWalgreenssoAdriancanpickupatoothbrush.Thestorehasatinystationerysectionsowealsopickupasketchpad,aboxofpencils,andathickSharpiemarker.Maybeit’snoteverythingthatAnyawouldprefer,butshe’llhavetomakedo.
Wearriveatthecottage,andIfeelobligatedtogiveAdrianatour,whichtakesallofthreeseconds.
“Thisisnice,”hesays.
“Iknow.I’mgoingtomissit.”
“Don’tgiveuphopeyet.Ithinkthisplanhasagoodchanceofworking.”
Iputonsomemusicandthenwespendagoodhourtalking,becausewhatwe’reabouttoattemptfeelssoawkward.IfI’dbroughtAdrianhometosleepwithhim,I’dknowexactlywhattodo.Butinsteadwe’regettingreadytodosomethingthatfeelsevenmoreintimateandpersonal.
BymidnightI’vefinallybuiltupthecouragetogotobed.IgointothebathroomandchangeintosoftgymshortsandanoldCentralHighT-shirt.Iflossandbrushmyteeth,Iwashmyfaceandputonmoisturizer.AndthenIhesitatebeforeopeningthedoorbecauseIfeelalittlesilly,likeI’mpresentingmyselfinmyunderwear.IwishIhadnicerpajamas,somethingprettierthanatatteredhighschoolT-shirtwithlittleholesallaroundtheneck.
WhenIexitthebathroom,IseethatAdrianhasalreadyturneddownthecoversforme.Allthelightsareoffexceptforasmalllampbesidethebed.Thesketchpadandpencilsareonthenightstand—withineasyreachifI’mseizedbyinspiration,orsomethingelse.
Adrianisstandinginthekitchenwithhisbacktome,reachingintotherefrigeratorforacanofseltzer.Hedoesn’tnoticemeuntilI’mstandingrightbehindhim.“IthinkI’mready.”
Heturnsaroundandsmiles.“Youlookready.”
“Ihopethisisn’ttooboringforyou.”
Heshowsmehisphone.“I’vegotCallofDutyMobile.I’llberescuinghostagesinUzbekistan.”
Istandonmytiptoesandgivehimakiss.“Goodnight.”
“Goodluck,”hesays.
Igetintobedandgetunderthecovers,andAdriansettlesintoachairatthefarendofthecottage.Withtheceilingfanspinningandthenoisycricketschirpingoutsidemywindow,I’mbarelyawareofAdrian’spresence.Iturnonmysideandfacethewall.Aftertwolongandexhaustingdays,IrealizeI’mnotgoingtohaveanytroublefallingasleep.AssoonasIrestmyfaceonmypillow,Ifeelallmystressebbingaway;Ifeelmymusclesrelaxing,mybodylettinggo.AndevenwithAdrianjustafewfeetaway,it’sthefirstnightinalongtimewhenIdon’tfeellikeI’mbeingwatched.
Irememberonlyoneofmydreams.I’mintheEnchantedForest,lyingonapathofhard-packedearthandlookingupattheblacknightsky.Mylegsareofftheground.Ashadowyfigureispullingmebytheankles,draggingmybodythroughabedofdryleaves.Myarmsareraisedupandovermyhead.IcanfeelmyfingersgrazingpastrocksandrootsbutI’munabletograspthem;it’slikeI’mparalyzedandI’munabletostopwhat’shappening.
AndthenI’mlookingupfromthebottomofahole;it’slikeI’vefallentothebottomofawell.Mybodyhasbeentwistedintoapretzel.Myleftarmispinnedbeneathmybackandmylegsaresplayedwideopen.Iknowitoughttohurtmorethanitdoes,butsomehowI’minmybodyandoutofmybodyatthesametime.Highaboveme,there’samanlookingdownintothehole.Somethingsoftandsmallstrikesmychest.ItfallsawayandIseethatit’satoy,achild’sstuffedbunnyrabbit.It’sfollowedbyastuffedbearandasmallplasticball.“I’msorry,”themansays,andhisvoicesoundshollow,likehe’stalkingunderwater.“Iamso,sosorry.”
Thenmyfaceisstruckbyaclodofdirt.Icanhearthesoftchopofashovelspearingintoamoundofearth—andthenmoredirtandrocksfalldownuponme.Ihearthemangrunting;Icanfeelweightaccumulatingonmychest,thegrowingpressureonmybody,andthenIcan’tseeanymore.It’sjustblackness
ThenItrytoopenmyeyes,andI’mbackinmycottage.Thelightsareoffandthetinyclockonmynightstandsays3:03.I’mlyinginbed,clutchingapencilwithabrokenpoint.Eveninthedarkness,Icanseethatmykitchenchairsareempty;IcanonlyassumethatAdriangottiredofwaitingforsomethingtohappen,andhewenthome.
Igetuptomakesurethedoorislocked.Iliftbackthesheetsandswingmylegsoutofbed,andonlythendoIseeabare-chestedAdriansleepingonmyfloor,lyingparalleltomybed,usingthecrookofhisarmandhisballed-upshirtasapillow.
Ireachdownandgentlyshakehisshoulder.“Hey.”
Instantly,hesitsup.“What’swrong?”
“Diditwork?DidIdrawanything?”
“Well,yesandno.”Heswitchesonthetinylamp,thenopensthesketchpadtorevealthefirstpage.It’snearlycoveredinscribbles;thesurfaceofthepaperhasbeenobliteratedwithgraphite.Therearejusttwosmallpatchesofwhite—twoplaceswherethepencilpointgougedthroughthepaper,revealingtheblankpageunderneath.
“Itwasjustpastoneo’clock,”Adrianexplains.“You’dbeenasleepforanhourorso.Iwasgettingreadytogiveupandgotobed.SoIturnedoffthelightsandlaydownonthefloor.AndthenIheardyouturnoverandreachforthepad.Youdidn’tevensitup.Youdrewthislyingdowninthedark.”
“It’snotmuchofapicture.”
“MaybeAnya’stellingusshe’sfinished.Therearenomorepictures.Wealreadyhaveeverythingweneed.”
Butthiscan’tberight.Somethingisstillmissing,I’msureofit.“IdreamedIwasatthebottomofahole.Amanwasshovelingdirtontopofme.Maybethispictureisthedirt.”
“Maybe,buthowwouldthathelpus?Whatdowelearnfromapictureofdirt?”
Istanduptogettherestofthedrawings.Iwanttospreadthemoutonthefloorandseehowtheall-blackscribblesmightfitintothesequence.Adrianpleadswithmetogetsomesleep.“Youneedtorest,Mallory.Tomorrow’sourlastchancetofigurethisout.Justgotobed.”
HereshapeshisT-shirtintotheworld’ssaddestpillowandliesbackonthehardwoodfloor.HecloseshiseyesandIstopthinkingaboutAnyajustlongenoughtoregisterhisupperbody.He’stanandtonedallover,thenaturalby-productofworkingoutdoorsallsummer.Icouldprobablybounceaquarteroffhisstomach.He’sbeenkindandsupportiveandhemighthavethebestphysiqueI’veeverseenonaman,andlikeadummyI’vemadehimsleeponthefloor.
AdrianopenshiseyesandrealizesI’mstillstaringathim.“Canyouturnoffthelight?”
Ireachdown,skimmyfingersacrosshischest,andtakehishand.“Okay,”Itellhim.“ButfirstIwantyoutocomeuphere.”
25
Iwaketothesmellofbutterandcinnamon.Adrian’salreadydressedandmovingaroundmykitchen.He’sfoundthegrannysmithapplesinmypantryandhe’sstandingovertherangewithaspatula,flippingsomekindofpancake.Iglanceattheclockandit’sjustpastseventhirtyinthemorning.
“Whyareyouawake?”
“I’mdrivingtoAkron.ToseeDoloresCampbell.IfIleavenow,GooglesaysI’llbetherebytwo.”
“It’sawasteoftime.You’regoingtodrivefourhundredmilestomeetawomanwhocan’tevenrecognizeherownnurse.”
“It’sourlastlead.Letmebringthedrawingsandthelibrarybook.I’llshowthemtoher,seeiftheytriggeranykindofreaction.”
“Theywon’t.”
“You’reprobablyright.I’mgoingtotry,anyway.”
He’ssodetermined,Ifeelobligatedtogowithhim—butI’vealreadycommittedtospendingtheafternoonwithTeddy.“Ineedtostayhere.They’replanningapartyforme.”
“I’llbefine.Ijustdownloadedanewaudiobook,HeirtotheJedi.That’llgetmeallthewaytoAkronandback.”Hecarriesoveramugofteaandaplateofapple-cinnamonpancakesandencouragesmetositupinbed.“Nowseewhatyouthinkofthese.It’smyfather’srecipe.”Isitupandtakeabiteandyes,infacttheyareremarkable—sweetandtartandbutteryanddelicious,evenbetterthanthechurros.
“They’reincredible.”
Heleansoverandkissesme.“There’smoreonthestove.I’llcallyoufromtheroadandletyouknowwhatIfindout.”
AndI’malittlesadthathe’sleaving.Ihaveawholedaytokillbeforethepoolpartystartsatthreeo’clock.ButIcansensethere’snotalkingAdrianoutofthetrip,thathewouldchaseeveryleadtotheendoftheearthtokeepmefromleavingSpringBrook.
Ispendthemorningpackingmythings.Itdoesn’ttakelong.Sixweeksago,IarrivedinSpringBrookwithasecondhandsuitcaseandahandfulofoutfits.Now,thankstoCaroline’sgenerosity,Ihaveamuchbiggerwardrobe—butnothingtocarryallmynewclothes.SoIfoldherfive-hundred-dollardressesverycarefullyandplacetheminsideaten-gallonkitchentrashbag—whatmyfriendsatSafeHarborlikedtocallasober-livingsuitcase.
ThenIputonmysneakersandgoforonelastrunaroundtheneighborhood.ItrynottothinkabouthowmuchI’llmissSpringBrook—allthelittleshopsandrestaurants,theornatelydetailedhouses,thebeautifullawnsandgardens.I’vebeentoRussell’scondoinNorristown,andhisneighborhoodisn’tnearlyasnice.Helivesonthetenthfloorofahigh-risethat’snexttoanofficeparkandanAmazonfulfillmentcenter.Thecomplexisringedbyhighways,manymilesofsteamingasphaltandconcrete.Notaprettyplacebyanydefinition,butapparentlyit’swhereI’mmeanttobe.
Thepoolpartyisanicegesture,Iguess.Carolinehangssomelimpstreamersaroundthebackpatio,andsheandTeddystringupahomemadebannerthatsaysthankyoumallory.TedandCarolinedoanicejobofpretendingIhaven’tbeenfired.WeallactlikeI’mleavingbychoice,whichmakestheafternoonlessawkward.Carolinestaysinthekitchen,preparingthefood,whileIswiminthepoolwithTedandTeddy.ThethreeofuscompeteinaseriesofsillyracesthatTeddyalwaysmanagestowin.IwonderaloudifCarolineneedsanyhelp—ifshe’dlikesometimetoswim—andthenIrealizeI’veneveractuallyseenherinthepool.
“Thewatermakesheritchy,”Teddyexplains.
“Thechlorine,”Tedsays.“I’vetriedadjustingthepHbalancebutnothingworks.Herskinissuper-sensitive.”
Byfouro’clock,I’vestillnotheardanythingfromAdrian.I’mthinkingabouttextinghim,butthenCarolinecallsfromthepatiothatdinnerisready.She’sarrangedthetablewithpitchersoficewaterandfresh-squeezedlemonadeandanabundanceofhealthfulfood—therearegrilledshrimpskewersandacitrus-seafoodsaladandbowlsoffreshlysteamedsquashandspinachandcornonthecob.She’sclearlyputalotofcareandeffortintoeverything,andIsenseshefeelsguiltyforsendingmeaway.Istarttowonderifshe’sreconsideringmyfuture,ifthere’sstillachanceshe’llletmestay.Teddyspeaksinananimatedvoiceabouthisdaytriptothebeachandboardwalk.Hetellsmeallaboutthefunhouseandthebumpercarsandthecrabintheoceanthatpinchedhistinytoes.Hisparentschimeinwiththeirownstories,anditfeelslikewe’reallhavingaterrificfamilyconversation,likeeverythinghasgonebacktonormal.
FordessertCarolinebringsoutChocolateLavaVolcanoes—miniaturespongecakesfilledwithgooeywarmganacheandtoppedwithascoopofvanillaicecream.TheyarebakedtoperfectionandwhenItakemyfirstbiteIliterallygasp.
Everybodylaughsatmyreaction.
“I’msorry,”Itellthem.“ButthisisthebestthingI’veevertasted.”
“Ohthat’swonderful,”Carolinesays.“I’mgladwecanendthesummeronahighnote.”
Andthat’swhenIrealizenothinghaschanged.
IoffertohelpwiththedishesbutTedandCarolineinsistontacklingthecleanup.TheyremindmethatI’mtheguestofhonor.TheyencouragemetogoplaywithTeddy.SoheandIreturntothepoolandcyclethroughallourfavoritegamesonelasttime.WeplayCastawayandTitanicandWizardofOz.Andthenforalongtimeweliesidebysideontheraftandwefloat.
“HowfarisNorristown?”Teddyasks.
“Notfar.Lessthananhour.”
“Soyoucanstillvisitforpoolparties?”
“Ihopeso,”Itellhim.“I’mnotsure.”
Thetruth?IdoubtI’lleverseehimagain.TedandCarolinewillhavenotroublefindinganewnanny,andofcourseshewillbeprettyandsmartandcharming,andTeddywillhaveallkindsoffunwithher.I’llberememberedasanoddfootnoteintheirfamilyhistory—thebabysitterwhoonlylastedsevenweeks.
Andhere’sthepartthatreallystings:Iknowthatmanyyearsinthefuture,whenTeddybringshiscollegegirlfriendhomeforThanksgivingdinner,mynamewillbeapunchlinearoundthedinnertable.I’llberememberedasthecrazybabysitterwhodrewalloverthewalls,theonewhobelievedTeddy’simaginaryfriendwasreal.
HeandIliebackontheraftandwatchthegorgeoussunset.Allthecloudsaretintedpinkandpurple;theskylookslikeapaintingyou’dseeinamuseum.“Wecandefinitelybepenpals,”Ipromise.“YoucansendmepicturesandI’llwriteyouletters.”
“Iwouldlikethat.”
Hepointsuptoanairplanesoaringacrossthehorizon,trailinglongstreaksofwhitevapor.“DopeopletakeairplanestoNorristown?”
“No,buddy,there’snoairport.”
He’sdisappointed.
“SomedayI’mgoingtorideonaplane,”hesays.“Mydaddysaysthebigonesgofivehundredmilesanhour.”
IlaughandremindTeddythathe’salreadybeenonaplane.“WhenyoucamehomefromBarcelona.”
Heshakeshishead.“WedrovefromBarcelona.”
“No,youdrovetotheairport.Butthenyougotonanairplane.NoonedrivesfromBarcelonatoNewJersey.”
“Wedid.Ittookusallnight.”
“It’sadifferentcontinent.There’sagiantoceanintheway.”
“Theybuiltanunderwatertunnel,”hesays.“Withsuper-thickwallstoprotectyoufromseamonsters.”
“Nowyou’rejustbeingsilly.”
“Askmydad,Mallory!It’strue!”
Andthenoveronthepooldeck,Icanhearmytelephoneringing.Ihavethevolumeturnedallthewayup,soIwon’tmissAdrian’scall.“Berightback,”ItellTeddy.Iflipofftheraftandswimtothesideofthepool,butI’mnotfastenough.BythetimeIreachmyphone,thecallhasalreadygonetovoicemail.
IseethatAdrianhastextedmeaphotograph.It’sanelderlyblackwoman,wearingathinredcardiganandsittinginawheelchair.Hereyeshaveavacantstarebutherhairisneatandtrim.Shelookswellkeptandwellcaredfor.
Thenasecondphotoarrives—thesamewomanposingnexttoablackmaninhisfifties.Hehashisarmaroundthewomanandhe’sdirectingherattentiontowardthecamera,encouraginghertolookatthelens.
Adriancallsagain.
“Didyougetmypictures?”
“Whoarethesepeople?”
“That’sDoloresJeanCampbellandherson,Curtis.AnnieBarrett’sdaughterandgrandson.Ijustspenttwohourswiththem.CurtiscomeseverySundaytovisithismom.Andwegoteverythingwrong.”
Thisseemsimpossible.
“AnnieBarrettwasblack?”
“No,butshe’sdefinitelynotHungarian.ShewasborninEngland.”
“She’sBritish?”
“I’vegothergrandsonstandingrightnexttome.I’mgoingtoputCurtisontheline,lethimtellyoufirsthand,okay?”
Teddystaresatmefromtheswimmingpool,bored,anxiousformetocomebackandplay.Imouththewords“fiveminutes”andheclimbsaboardtheraftandstartskickingwithhistinyfeet,propellinghimselfaroundthewater.
“Hey,Mallory,it’sCurtis.AreyoureallylivinginGrannyAnnie’scottage?”
“I—Ithinkso?”
“SpringBrook,NewJersey.InbackofHayden’sGlen,right?YourfriendAdrianshowedmesomepictures.Butyoudon’thavetoworry,mygranny’snothauntingyou.”
I’msoconfused.“Howdoyouknow?”
“Here’swhathappened.ShemovedfromEnglandtoSpringBrookafterWorldWarII,okay?TolivewithhercousinGeorge.TheywereontheeastsideofHayden’sGlen,whichbackthenwasverywhiteandwell-to-do.NowmyPop-PopWillie,helivedonthewestsideofHayden’sGlen.InaneighborhoodcalledCorrigan.Thecoloredsection.HepumpedgasataTexaco,andafterworkhewouldwalkdowntothecreektocatchhissupper.Pop-Poplovedtofish.Heatetroutandpercheverydayiftheywerebiting.Onedayheseesthisprettywhitegirlwalkingbarefoot.Carryingasketchpad.ShecallsouthelloandPop-Popsaidhewastooafraidtolookather.Becauseagain,thisis1948,remember?Ifyou’reablackmanandawhitewomansmilesatyou?Youlooktheotherway.ButGrannyAnniecomesfromCresscombe,intheUK.AseasidetownfullofCaribbeanmigrants.She’snotafraidofblackpeople.ShesayshellotoPop-Popeveryafternoon.Overthenextyeartheygetfriendly,andsoonthey’remorethanfriendly.SoonPop-Popiscreepingthroughtheforestinthemiddleofthenight,
“Ithinkso.”IglanceovertothepooltocheckonTeddy.He’sstilldriftingincirclesontheliferaft,andIfeelguiltyforignoringhimonmylastday,butIneedtoheartherest.“Whathappened?”
“Well,soonedayAnniegoestocousinGeorgeandsaysshe’spregnant.Onlyshewouldn’thaveusedthatwordbackthen.Sheprobablysaidshewas‘withchild.’ShetellsGeorgethatWillieisthefather,thatshe’sgoingtoelopewithhim.They’regoingtomovewesttoOhioandliveonWillie’sfamilyfarm,wherenooneislikelytobotherthem.AndAnnie’ssostubborn,Georgeknowshecan’tpossiblystopher.”
“Sowhathappened?”
“Well,Georgeisfurious,obviously.Hetellsherthechildwillbeanabomination.Hesaystheirmarriagewon’tcountintheeyesofGod.HesaysAnniewillbedeadtohim,andthefamilywillrefusetoacknowledgeherexistence.Andshesaysthat’sfine,sheneverreallycaredforthemanyway.Thenshepacksherthingsanddisappears.WhichputsGeorgeinaveryembarrassingsituation.He’sapillarofthecommunity.He’sadeaconofthechurch.Hecan’ttellpeoplethathiscousinhasrunoffwithacoloredman.He’dratherdiethanhavethetruthgetout.Sohemakesupastory.Hegoestoabutchershopandbuystwobucketsofpig’sblood.Therewasnoforensicsciencebackthen,bloodwasblood.Hesloshesitalloverthecabin,knocksoverthefurniture,makesitlooklikesomeoneransackedtheplace.Thenhecalledthepolice.Thetownhadamanhuntandtheydraggednetsthroughthecreekbuttheyneverfoundabodybecausethereneverwasabody.GrannycalledittheGreatEscape.ShespentthenextsixtyyearsonafarmnearAkron.Shehadmymother,Dolores,in1949,andmyuncle,Tyler,in1950.Bythetimeshedied,shehadfourgrandchildrenandthreegreat-grandchildren.Shelivedtoeighty-one.”
Curtistellsthestorywithconfidenceandconviction,butIstillcan’tbelieveit.“Andnooneeverlearnedthetruth?PeopleinSpringBrookstillthinkshewasmurdered.She’sthelocalboogeyman.Littlekidssayshe’shauntingtheforest.”
“MyguessisthatSpringBrookhasn’tchangedmuchsincethe1940s.Backthenitwaswell-to-do,nowIbetyoujustcallit‘affluent.’Differentwordsforthesamething.ButifyoudriveovertoCorriganyou’llfindplentyofpeoplewhoknowthetruth.”
I’mremindedofmyconversationwithDetectiveBriggs.“IthinkI’vealreadymetone.Ijustdidn’tbelieveher.”
“Well,Ihopethisputsyourmindatease,”Curtissays.“Mywife’swaitingformeinthecar,soIshouldputyourfriendbackon.”
IthankCurtisforhistimeandhepassesthephonebacktoAdrian.“Incredible,right?”
“Wewerewrongabouteverything?”
“AnnieBarrettwasnevermurdered.She’snotourghost,Mallory.Allthosepictureshavetobecomingfromsomeoneelse.”
“Teddy?”IlookupandseeCarolineMaxwellstandingattheedgeofthepool,callingtoherson.“It’sgettinglate,honey.Timetorinseoff.”
“Fivemoreminutes?”heasks.
IwavetoCaroline,signalingthatI’lltakecareofhim.“Igottago,”ItellAdrian.“Doyouwanttocomeoverwhenyougethome?Sinceit’smylastnight?”
“Ifyoudon’tmindstayinguplate.TheGPSsaysIwon’tgetbackuntilmidnight.”
“I’llbewaiting.Drivesafe.”
Mymindisreeling.IfeellikeI’verunrightintoabrickwall.IrealizeI’vespentthelastfewweekschasingadeadend—andnowIneedtorethinkeverythingIknowaboutAnya.
ButfirstIneedtogetTeddyoutofthepool.
“Comeon,T-Bear.Let’sgetyourinsedoff.”
Wegrabourtowelsandwalkacrosstheyardtotheoutdoorshowerstall.There’satinybenchoutsidethestall,andCarolinehassetoutTeddy’sfiretruckpajamasandcleanunderwear.Ireachinsidethedoortoturnonthewater,adjustingthefaucetsuntilthetemperatureiswarm.ThenTeddygoesinsideandlatchesthedoorandIstandoutsideholdinghistowel.Hisswimtrunkshittheconcretefloorwithasplat,andthenhistinyfeetkickthemouttome.Itwistthepolyesterfabricinmyhands,wringingoutallofthewater.ThenIglanceacrosstheyardtoMitzi’shouse.Thelightsinthekitchenareon,andDetectiveBriggshasreturnedtothesceneofthecrime.She’swalkingaroundthebackyardwithsomekindofmetalpole,pokingatthedirt,takingmeasurements.Iwavehello,andshecomesover.
“MalloryQuinn,”shesays.“Iheardyou’releavingSpringBrooktomorrow.”
“Thingsdidn’tworkout.”
“That’swhatCarolinesaid.Iwasalittlesurprisedyounevermentionedit,though.”
“Itdidn’tcomeup.”
Shewaitsformetoelaborate,butwhatdoessheexpectmetosay?It’snotlikeI’mproudofbeingfired.Itrytochangethesubject.
“IjustgotoffthephonewithAnnieBarrett’sgrandson.AmannamedCurtisCampbell.HelivesinAkron,Ohio.ClaimshisGrannyAnnielivedallthewaytoageeighty-one.”
Briggsgrins.“Itoldyouthatstorywasawhopper.MygrandfathergrewupwithWillie.Theyusedtofishtogether.”
Teddyinterruptsus,callingfrominsidetheshowerstall.“Hey,Mallory?”
“Righthere,buddy.”
Hesoundspanicked.“There’sabugonthesoap.”
“Whatkindofbug?”
“Abigone.Athousand-legger.”
“Splashsomewateronit.”
“Ican’t,Ineedyoutodoit.”
Heunlatchesthedoorandthenretreatstothefarcornerofthestall,gettingoutofmyway.IreachforthebarofDovesoap,expectingsomekindofnastyslitheringsilverfish,butthere’snothing.
“Whereisit?”
Teddyshakeshishead,andIrealizethebugwasjustaploy,anexcusetomakemeopenthedoor.Hewhispers,“Arewegettingarrested?”
“Who?”
“Thepolicelady.Isshemadatus?”
IstareatTeddy,bewildered.Nothingaboutthisconversationmakesanysense.“No,buddy,everything’sfine.Noone’sgettingarrested.Justfinishup,okay?”
Iclosethedoorandhelatchesitbehindme.
DetectiveBriggsisstillwaiting.
“Everythingallright?”
“He’sfine.”
“Imeanyou,Mallory.Youlooklikeyou’vejustseenaghost.”
Isinkintoachairtosteadymythoughts,andIsayI’mstillreelingfromthephonecall.“I’dconvincedmyselfthatAnnieBarrettwasmurdered.Ican’tbelievepeoplehavebeenspreadingthisstoryforseventyyears.”
“Well,thetruthdoesn’treflectwellonSpringBrook.Ifthetownhadbeenalittlemoretolerant,maybeWillieandAnniecouldhavestayedhere.MaybeGeorgewouldn’thavefelttheneedtostageacrimescene.”Briggslaughs.“Youknow,there’sstillguysinmydepartmentwhothinkthemurderreallyhappened?Itellthemthetruth,andtheyactlikeI’mtryingtostirthingsup,ablackwomancophandingoutracecards.”Sheshrugs.“Anyhow,Idon’twanttokeepyoulong.Ijusthadaquickquestion.WefoundMitzi’scellphoneinherkitchen.Thebatteryhadrundownbutwefoundachargerandgotitworkingagain.Seemsshewasinthemiddleofsendingyouatext.Itdoesn’tmakeanysensetome,butmaybeit’llmeansomethingtoyou.”Shelooksdownathernotepad,squintingoverthetopsofherreadingglasses.“Here’swhatitsays:‘Weneedtotalk.Iwaswrongaboutbefore.Anyaisn’taname,it’s’”—Briggsstopsandlookstome.“That’sasfarasshegot.Dothosewordsmeananythingtoyou?”
“No.”
“HowaboutAnya?Isthatpossiblyatypo?”
Inodinthedirectionoftheshowerstall.“AnyaisthenameofTeddy’sinvisiblefriend.”
“Invisiblefriend?”
“He’sfive.Hehasanactiveimagination.”
“Iknowshe’snotreal,”hecallsout.“Iknowshe’sjustmake-believe.”
Briggsfurrowsherbrow,puzzledbythecrypticmessage.Thensheflipsforwardafewpagesinhernotepad.
“YesterdayIspokewithCarolineMaxwell,andshesayssheheardMitzihavinganargumentonThursdaynight.ShesawMitzileaveherhouseinanightgownaroundtenthirtyP.M.Didyouhappentohearanything?”
“No,butIwasn’there.IwasatAdrian’shouse.Threeblocksaway.Hisparentswerehavingaparty.”AttenthirtyThursdaynight,IwassittinginthegardensoftheFlowerCastle,wastingmytimewithTheCollectedWorksofAnneC.Barrett.“DoesthecoronerknowhowMitzidied?”
BriggslowershervoicesoTeddywon’thear.“Unfortunatelyitappearstobedrug-related.Acutelunginjurystemmingfromanoverdose.SometimeThursdaynightorearlyFridaymorning.Butdon’tgoprintingthatonFacebook.Keepitunderyourhatforafewdays.”
“Wasitheroin?”
She’ssurprised.“Howdidyouknow?”
“It’sjustaguess.Isawsomethingsinherhouse.Therewereneedlecapsalloverherlivingroom.”
“Well,youguessedright,”Briggssays.“Youdon’thearaboutolderpeopleusingharddrugs,butthePhillyhospitalsseethemeveryweek.It’smorecommonthanyouthink.Maybehervisitorwasadealer.Maybetheygotinanargument.We’restillpiecingittogether.”SheoffersmeanotherbusinesscardbutItellherIstillhavethefirstone.“Ifyouthinkofanythingelse,givemeacall,okay?”
AfterBriggsleaves,Teddyopensthedoortotheshowerstall,squeakycleananddressedinhisfiretruckpajamas.IgivehimahugandtellhimI’llseehiminthemorning,tosaymygoodbyes.ThenIwalkhimovertothepatioandsendhiminsidethehouse.
ImanagetokeepmycomposureuntilI’mbackinsidemycottageandI’velockedmydoor.ThenIfallforwardontomybedandburymyfaceinmypillow.Therehavebeensomanybombshellrevelationsinthelastthirtyminutes,Ican’tbegintoprocessthemall.It’stoooverwhelming.Thepiecesofthepuzzleseemmorescatteredthanever.
Butthere’sonethingIknowforsure:
TheMaxwellshavebeenlyingtome.
26
Iwaituntildark,untilI’msureTeddyisasleepinbed,beforegoingintothehousetospeakwithTedandCaroline.They’resittingintheden,atoppositeendsofthesofa,surroundedbyallmycrazysketchesofdarkforests,lostchildren,andwingedangels.Inonecorneroftheroom,there’sadropclothandsomepaintingsupplies—rollers,drywallcompound,twogallonsofBenjaminMooreAtriumWhite.Likethey’replanningtopaintinthemorning,afterRusselltakesmeaway.
Carolineissippingaglassofwineandthere’sabottleofKendall-Jacksonmerlotwithinreach.Tedisholdingamugofhottea,he’scarefullyblowingacrossitssurface,andthey’relisteningtosomeyachtrockradiostationontheirAlexaspeaker.Theylookhappytoseeme.
“Wewerehopingyou’dcomeby,”Carolinesays.“Areyouallpacked?”
“Justabout.”
Tedholdsouthismug,encouragingmetosmellit.“Ijustboiledsomewater.Forginkgobilobatea.CanIpouryousome?”
“No,that’sallright.”
“Ithinkyou’dlikeit,Mallory.It’sgoodforinflammation.Afteralongworkout.Letmegetyousome.”It’snotreallyachoiceanymore.HedartsintothekitchenandIswearIseeaflickerofannoyanceinCaroline’seyes.
Butallshesaysis,“Ihopeyouenjoyedthedinner?”
“Yes.Itwasreallynice.Thankyou.”
“I’mgladwecouldgiveyouapropersendoff.AndIthinkitwasgoodforTeddy.Togivehimasenseofclosure.It’simportantforchildren.”
There’sanawkwardpause.IknowthequestionsIneedtoask,butIwanttowaituntilTedisback,soIcanseebothoftheirreactions.IallowmyeyestodriftaroundtheroomandmygazelandsontwodrawingsthatI’dsomehowoverlooked—smallandfairlyclosetothefloor.It’snowonderAdrianandImissedthem.Thepicturesarenearanelectricaloutlet—infact,onedrawingiscomposedaroundtheoutlet,asiftheelectricitywassurgingoutofthesocketandintothepicture.Theangeliswieldingsomekindofmagicwand,pressingittoAnya’schest—surroundingherinafieldofenergy,paralyzingher.
“IsthataVipertekstungun?”
Carolinesmilesoverherglassofwine.“I’msorry?”
“Inthesedrawings.Ididn’tnoticethemonFriday.Doesn’therwandlookjustlikeyourViper?”
Carolinereachesforthewinebottleandtopsoffherglass.“Ifwetrytointerpretallthesymbolsinthesepictures,it’sgoingtobealongnight.”
ButIknowthesepicturesaren’tsymbols.They’repartofthesequence,they’rethemissingpieces.Adrianwasrightaboutthecrypticblackscribbles.Anya’stellingusshe’sfinished,he’dsaid.Therearenomoredrawings.Wealreadyhaveeverythingweneed
Tedisbackinlessthanaminutewithasteamingmugofgrayliquid.Itlookslikedirtymopwaterandsmellslikeapetstore.Ireachforacoasterandsetitdownonthecoffeetable.“Itdoesn’tneedtosteep,”Tedsays.“Youcandrinkwheneverit’scoolenough.”
Thenhesitsnexttohiswifeandfidgetswithhislaptop,changingMarvinGayetoJoniMitchell,thatsongaboutrowsandflowsofangelhair,andicecreamcastlesintheair.
“IlearnedsomethinginterestingaboutMitzi,”Itellthem.“Shewassendingmeatextrightbeforeshedied.ShewantedmetoknowthatAnyaisn’taname.It’ssomethingelse.DetectiveBriggscouldn’tmakesenseofit.”
“Well,it’sdefinitelyaname,”Tedsays.“It’stheRussiandiminutiveofAnna.It’spopularalloverEasternEurope.”
“Right,well,ItriedputtingitintoGoogleTranslate.Andapparentlyit’sawordinHungarian.Itmeans‘mommy.’Notmother,butmommy.Likeachildwouldsay.Isn’tthatweird?”
“Idon’tknow,”Carolinesays.“Isit?”
“Thetea’sbetterwarm,”Tedsays.“Itthinsthemucusinyoursinuses.”
“Youknowwhatelseisweird?Teddysayshe’sneverbeenonanairplane.Eventhoughthreemonthsago,youallflewherefromBarcelona.AndaccordingtoAmericanAirlines,that’saneight-hourflight.Ichecked.Howdoesalittleboyforgetaboutthebiggestairplanetripofhislife?”
CarolinestartstoanswerbutTedquicklytalksoverher.“That’sactuallyafunnystory.TeddywasnervousaboutthetripsoIdecidedtogivehimaBenadryl.Theysayithelpskidsfallasleep.Ijustdidn’trealizethatCarolinehadalreadygivenhimaBenadryl.Sohegotadoubledose.Hewasoutcoldforthewholeday.Didn’twakeupuntilwewereinourrentalcar.”
“Seriously,Ted?That’syourexplanation?”
“It’sthetruth.”
“AdoubledoseofBenadryl?”
“Whatareyouimplying,Mallory?”
Heforcesasmileandhiseyesarepleadingwithmetostopaskingquestions.
ButIcan’tstopnow.
Istillhavetoaskthebigone.
Thequestionthatwillexplaineverything.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeTeddyisagirl?”
IwatchCaroline’sreactionverycarefully—andifsherevealsanything,it’sakindofself-righteousindignation.“Well,forstarterswefindthephrasingofyourquestionoffensive.Doyouunderstandwhy?”
“Isawhimintheshower.Afterswimming.DidyouthinkI’dneverfindout?”
“Youalmostdidn’t,”Tedsayssadly.
“It’snotasecret,”Carolinesays.“We’recertainlynotashamedofhisidentity.Wejustdidn’tknowifyoucouldhandleit.Obviously,Teddywasbornagirl.Andforthreeyearsweraisedhimasagirl.Butthenhemadeitclearheidentifiedasaboy.Soyes,Mallory,welethimexpresshisgenderwithhisclothesandhairstyle.Andofcoursewelethimchooseamoremasculinename.Hewantedhisdaddy’sname.”
“Thereissomuchinterestingresearchontransgenderchildren,”Tedsays,andhiseyesarestillpleadingwithmetopleasepleasepleaseshutthefuckup.“Ihavesomebooksinmyoffice,ifyou’reinterested.”
Andthecrazythingis:Ithinktheyhonestlyexpectmetopretendthisisallnormal.“You’retellingmeyourfive-year-oldistransgenderandsomehowitjustnevercameup?”
“Weknewyou’dreactthisway,”Carolinesays.“Weknewyouhadstrongreligiousconvictions—”
“Idon’thaveanyproblemwithtransgenderpeople—”
“Thenwhyareyoumakingsuchafuss?”
I’vestoppedlisteningtoher.Mymindisalreadygallopingahead.BecauseI’mrealizinghowallTeddy’squirksandstrangebehaviorssuddenlymakesense.Hisavoidanceofthelittleboysontheplayground.HisboutsofscreamingwheneverTeddraggedhimtothebarbershop.HisobsessionwithwearingthesamestripedpurpleT-shirt.It’saverylightpurple,almostlavender,themostfemininecolorinhiswardrobe.
Andallthoseannoyingquestionsfromtheschoolaboutkindergartenregistration…
“Youdon’thavevaccinationrecords,”Irealize.“Maybeyouhaveabirthcertificate.I’msurethere’sawaytobuyaforgery,ifyouhaveenoughmoney.ButschoolsinSpringBrookareveryseriousaboutvaccines.Theywantthoseformssentdirectlyfromadoctor.Andyoucan’tgetthem.That’swhytheschoolkeepscalling.”
Tedshakeshishead.“That’snottrue.WehadanexcellentpediatricianinBarcelona—”
“StopsayingBarcelona,Ted.YouneverwenttoBarcelona.YourSpanishisterrible.Youcan’tevensaypotato!Idon’tknowwhereyou’vebeenhidingthesepastthreeyears,butitwasn’tBarcelona.”
IfIweren’tsoflustered,ImighthavenoticedthatCarolinehassuddenlybecomeveryquiet.Shehasstoppedspeakingandnowsheisjustwatchingandlistening.
“Youstolesomeone’slittlegirl.Youdressedherasaboy.Youraisedherintobelievingshe’saboy.Andyou’regettingawaywithit,becauseshe’sfive.Becauseherworldissosmall.Butwhathappenswhenshegoestoschool?Whenshemakesfriends?Whenshe’solder,whenherhormoneskickin?Howdotwopeoplewithcollegediplomasreallyimaginethiscouldwork?You’dhavetobe—”
AndIletthesentencetrailoff,becausethewordIwanttouseis“crazy.”
IrealizeIneedtostoptalking,Iamsharingmyconclusionswiththewrongpeople.DidIreallyexpecttheMaxwellstoagreewithme?Tocomecleanandadmiteverythingthey’vedonewrong?Ineedtoleaverightnow,IneedtogofindDetectiveBriggs,andIneedtotellhereverything.
“Ishouldpack,”Itellthem,stupidly.
AndIstandup,likethey’rejustgoingtoletmewalkoutofthere.
“Ted,”Carolinesaysinacalmvoice.
I’mhalfwaytothedoorwhenglassshattersagainstthesideofmyhead.Ifallforward,droppingmyphone.Wetnessrunsdownmyfaceandneck.Ireachuptostopthebleedingandmyhandcomesawayred.I’mcoveredinKendall-Jacksonmerlot.
Behindme,IcanheartheMaxwellsbickering.
“It’sinthekitchen.”
“Icheckedthekitchen.”
“Thebigdrawer.WhereIkeepthestamps!”
Onhiswayoutoftheden,Tedstepsgingerlyovermybody,takinggreatpainsnottosteponme,eventhoughhe’sjustsmashedabottleovermyskull.Hewalksrightpastmysmartphone,facedownonthecarpet.There’sanemergencybuttononmyhomescreen—asingle-touchappthatwillpingtheMaxwells’addresstoanemergencycallcenter.ButI’mnotcloseenoughtoreachit,andI’mtoohurttostandup.ThemostIcandoisplantthetoesofmysneakersandpushoff,inchingacrosstheflooronmybelly.
“She’scrawling,”Carolinesays.“Ortryingto.”
“Onesecond,”Tedcallsback.
Ireachformyphoneandrealizemydepthperceptioniswayoff.It’snolongerinchesawayfromme—suddenlyit’shalfwaydownthehall,adistancethelengthofafootballfield.IcanhearCarolinewalkingupbehindme,Ihearhershoescrunchingshardsofbrokenglass.Idon’trecognizeheranymore.Sheisnolongerthekindcaringmotherwhowelcomedmeintoherhomeandencouragedmetobelieveinmyself.Shehasturnedinto—somethingelse.Hereyesarecoldandcalculating.SheregardsmelikeI’mastainonthefloor,ablemishthatneedstoberubbedout.
“Caroline,please,”Itellher,butthewordsdon’tcomeoutright;myspeechisallslurry.Iraisemyvoiceandtryagainbutmylipswon’tformthepropershapes.Isoundlikeatoythat’srunningoutofbattery.
“Shhhh,”shesays,holdingafingertoherlips.“Wedon’twanttowakeTeddy.”
IrollontomysideandIfeeljaggedshardsofglasspressingintomyhip.Carolineistryingtosteparoundmewithoutgettingtooclose,butI’msprawledacrossthecorridor,blockingherway.IbendmyrightkneeandthankGoditmovesthewayit’ssupposedto.Idrawmyrightthighallthewayuptomybody.AndwhenCarolinefinallymustersthenervetostepoverme,Ikickoutmyleg,connectingtheflatofmyheelwiththefrontofhershin.There’saloudcrackandshecomesdownhard,collapsingontopofme.
AndIknowIcantakeher.IknowIamstrongerthanherandTedcombined.Ihavespentthelasttwentymonthspreparingforthismoment.Ihavebeenrunningandswimmingandeatingright.I’vebeendoingfiftypush-upseveryotherdaywhileTedandCarolinesitanddrinkwineanddonothing.SoIwillnotjustsitbackandgiveup.Caroline’sforearmlandsclosetomyfaceandIclampmyteethonit,bitinghard.Shecriesoutinsurprise,wrestsbackherarm,andscramblesformyphone.Igrabthebackofherdressandpullandthesoftcottonripslikepaper,exposingherneckandshoulders.AndinthatmomentIfinallyglimpsehermuch-malignedtattoofromcollege,theonefromherartsyphase,whenshewasobsessedwithJohnMiltonandParadiseLost.
It’sapairoflargefeatheredwings,rightbetweenhershoulderblades.
Angelwings.
Tedhurriesbackfromthekitchen.He’sgottheViperinhishandandhe’sshoutingatCarolinetogetoutofhisway.Ibringbackmylegagain—Iknowit’smyonlyhope—ifIknockhimdown,maybehe’lldroptheViper,maybeIcan—
27
Iblinkseveraltimesandwakeindarkness.
Throughtheshadows,Icanrecognizefamiliarshapes:mybed,mynightstand,amotionlessceilingfan,thethickwoodraftersovermyhead.
I’minsidethecottage.
I’msittinguprightinahard-backedchairandmysinusesareburning.Itfeelslikethey’vebeenrinsedwithchlorine.
Itrytostand,onlytodiscoverthatIdon’thaveuseofmyarms;mywristsarecrossedbehindmyback,twistedatpainfulanglesandboundfasttomychair.
Imovemylipstocallforhelpbutthere’ssomekindofstrappulledtightlyaroundmyhead.Mymouthhasbeenstuffedwithcloth,awetballthesizeofanapple.Thepressureonmyjawisexcruciating.
MymusclestenseandmyheartbeatracesasIrealizeallthethingsIcan’tdo:Ican’tmove,Ican’ttalk,Ican’tscream,Ican’tevenwipethehairfrommyface.Takeawayfightorflightandthere’snothingleftbutpanic.I’msoscared,Inearlythrowup—andit’sagoodthingIdon’tbecauseI’dprobablychoketodeath.
Iclosemyeyesandsayaquickprayer.PleaseGodhelpme.Helpmefigureoutwhattodo.ThenItakeadeepsustainedbreaththroughmynose,fillingmylungstomaximumcapacitybeforelettingitout.ThisisarelaxationexerciseIpickedupinrehab,andithelpstokeepanxietyatbay.Itslowsmypulseandsteadiesmynerves
Irepeattheexercisethreetimes.
AndthenIforcemyselftothink.
Istillhaveoptions.Mylegsaren’trestrained.There’sachanceIcanstandup—butifIdo,thechairwillbeboundtomyback,likeaturtleshell.Walkingwillbeslowandawkwardbutmaybenotcompletelyoutofthequestion.
Icanturnmyheadleftandright.IcanseejustfarenoughintothekitchentoreadtheglowingLEDclockonthemicrowaveoven:11:07.Adrianisduebackaroundmidnight.He’spromisedtocomeseeme.Butwhathappensifheknocksonthedoorofmycottageandnooneanswers?Isthereachancehe’dtrytogetinside?
No,Idon’tthinkso.
NotunlessIcansignaltohim.
Ican’treachmypocketsbutI’mprettysurethey’reempty.Nocellphone.Nokeys.Nostungun.Butthere’sadrawerfulofknivesinmykitchen.IfIcouldsomehowreachaknifeandcutthroughtherestraints,Iwouldbeoutofthechairandarmedwithaweapon.
Iplantmyfeetonthefloorandleanforward,tryingtostandup,butmycenterofbalanceholdsmeback.Irealizemyonlyhopeistothrowmyselfforwardwithenoughmomentumtoriseup.I’mjustafraidthatI’llspillforwardandtoppleontothefloor.
I’mstillworkingupthenervetotrywhenIhearfootstepsoutsidethecottage,climbingthewornwoodenstairs.Thenthedoorswingsinward,andCarolineswitchesonthelight.
She’sdressedinthesamescoopneckdressfrombeforebutnowshe’salsowearingbluelatexgloves.She’scarryingoneofherprettysupermarkettotebags—thekindyoubringtothegrocerystore,topreventplasticwastefromclutteringuptheoceans.Sheseemssurprisedtofindmeawake.Shesetsthetotebagonmykitchencounterandbeginstoemptyitscontents:aBBQgrillwandlighter,ametalteaspoon,atinysyringeandneedlewithaplasticorangecap.
AllthewhileI’mpleadingwithherbutIcan’tformwords,onlysounds.She’stryingtoignoremeandfocusonherwork,butIcantellI’mirritatingher.Eventuallyshereachesbehindmyheadandthestrapgoesslack;Icoughupthewetraganditrollsdownmylap,landingonthefloorwithasplat.
“Noyelling,”shesays.“Useyourinsidevoice.”
“Whyareyoudoingthistome?”
“Itriedtogiveyouanicesend-off,Mallory.Imademyseafoodsalad.Ihungupstreamers.TedandIevenputtogetheraseverancepackage.Amonth’spay.Weweregoingtosurpriseyouwithachecktomorrowmorning.”Sheshakesherheadsadly,thenreachesintothetoteforasmallpolybagfilledwithwhitepowder.
“Whatisthat?”
“ThisistheheroinyoustolefromMitzi’shouse.Youtookityesterdayafternoon,afteryousnoopedaroundherbedroom.”
“That’snottrue—”
“Ofcourseitis,Mallory.Youhavealotofunresolvedgrief.You’vebeenmasqueradingasacollegestudent,atrackstar,andit’sgeneratingallthisanxiety.Andthenthepressureoflosingyourjob—losingyourpaycheckandlosingyourplacetolive—allthosestressescausedyoutorelapse.”
Irealizeshedoesn’tactuallybelievethis—she’sjustrehearsingastory.Shecontinues:“Youweredesperateforafix,andyouknewMitziwasusing,soyousneakedintoherhouseandyoufoundherstash.Only,youdidn’trealizeherheroinwascutwithfentanyl.Twothousandmicrograms,enoughtobringdownahorse.Youropioidreceptorsfloodedandyoustoppedbreathing.”
“Thisiswhatyou’lltellthepolice?”
“Thisiswhatthey’llinfer.Basedonyourhistory.Andtheautopsy.TomorrowmorningI’llknockonyourdoortoseeifyouneedhelppacking.Whenyoudon’tanswer,I’llusemykeytocomeinside.I’llfindyoulyinginbedwithaneedlestickingoutofyourarm.I’llscreamandcallforTed.He’llpoundyourchestandtrytogiveyouCPR.We’llcall911butthemedicswillsayyou’vebeendeadforhours.They’llsaythere’snothingwecouldhavedone.Andbecausewe’resuchgoodpeople,we’llmakesureyouhaveaproperburialandheadstone.Nexttoyoursister.OtherwiseRussellwouldgetstuckwiththebill,andthatdoesn’tseemfair.”
Carolineunsealsthepolybagandholdsitoverthespoon,carefullyfillingitwithwhitepowder.Sheleansoverthecounter,concentratingonherwork,andagainIseethetattoothat’sjustbelowherneck.
“You’retheangelinthedrawings.YouhitAnyawithyourViperandthenyoustrangledher.”
“Itwasself-defense.”
“Youdon’tstranglesomeoneinself-defense.Youmurderedher.Youstoleherlittlegirl.Howoldwasshe?Two?Twoandahalf?”
ThespoonfumblesoutofCaroline’sfingersandlandsonthecounterwithaclatter.Thepowderspillseverywhereandsheshakesherhead,irritated.
“Don’tpretendlikeyouunderstandthesituation.YouhavenoideawhatI’vebeenthrough.”
Shereachesforaplasticspatulaandslowlydragsitacrossthecounter,gatheringallthepowderintoatinylittlemound.
“IknowyouhadTed’shelp,”Isaid.“Iknowhe’sthemaninthepictures.YoukilledAnyaandtookherdaughter.AndthenyousentTedtoburyherbody.Whendidthishappen,Caroline?Wherewereyouliving?”
Sheshakesherheadandlaughs.“Iknowthegameyou’retryingtoplay.Weuseitintherapyallthetime.Youcan’ttalkyourwayoutofthis.”
“YouandTedwerehavingproblems.Hesaidyouspentyearstryingtoconceive.Wasthisthelastresort?Stealingachild?”
“Irescuedthatchild.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.What’sdoneisdoneandweneedtomoveon.I’msorryyouwon’tbepartofourfamilyanymore.”
CarolinecarefullypushesthepowderbackintothespoonandthenreachesfortheBBQlighter.Sheclicksthebuttonseveraltimesbeforeitproducesasmallblueflame,andIseethatherhandsaretrembling.
“DoesTeddyrememberanything?”
“Whatdoyouthink,Mallory?Doesheseemtraumatized?Doesheseemsadorunhappy?No,hedoesnot.Heremembersnothing.Heisahappy,well-adjustedchildandIworkedveryhardtogethimtothisplace.He’llneverknowhowmuchI’vesacrificedforhim.Andthat’sfine.”
AsCarolinespeaks,thepowderinthespoonsmokesandblackensandfinallyliquefies.EastCoastheroindoesn’thavemuchofanodorbutI’mstruckbyawhiffofsomethingchemical—maybeit’sthefentanyl,maybeit’ssomeotherlethaladditive.IrememberhearingaboutadrugdealerinCamdenwhosupposedlycuthisproductwithAjaxcleanser.Carolinesetsdownthelighterandpicksupthesyringe.Shedipstheneedleintothebowlofthespoonandthenslowlydrawsbacktheplunger,fillingthesyringewithsicklybrownsludge.
“Herememberstherabbit,”Itellher
“Excuseme?”
“InAnya’spictures,sheshowsalittlegirlchasingafterarabbit.Thegirlfollowsawhiterabbitdownintoavalley.Nowthinkbacktomyjobinterview,Caroline.TheveryfirstdayIcamehere,youhadoneofTeddy’sdrawingsonyourrefrigerator.Apictureofawhiterabbit.Maybeheremembersmorethanyourealize.”
“Herpicturesarelies.Youcan’ttrustthem.”
“Ihadahardtimemakingsenseofthem.ButIthinkIfinallyputthemintherightorder.They’reinthefolder,onmynightstand.Theyshowexactlywhathappened.”
Carolinereachesinherbagforalengthofrubbertourniquet.Shestretchesitbetweenherhands,likeshe’sreadytotieitaroundmyarm.Butthencuriositygetsthebetterofher.Shewalksovertomynightstand,opensthefolder,andstartssiftingthroughthepapers.“No,no,see,thesedrawingsaresounfair!Thisisherversionofwhathappened.Butifyou’dseenmysideofthings?Thebigpicture?You’dunderstandbetter.”
“What’sthebigpicture?”
“I’mnotsayingIdon’tfeelguilty.Idofeelguilty.Ifeelremorse.I’mnotproudofwhathappened.Butshedidn’tleavemewithachoice.”
“Showmewhatyoumean.”
“I’msorry?”
“Inthedrawerofthenightstand,there’sapadandpencil.Drawwhathappened.Showmeyourversionofthestory.”
BecauseIneedallthetimeIcanget.
TimeforAdriantodrivehomeandgethereandknockonthedoorandfigureoutsomethingisvery,verywrong.
AndCarolinelookslikeshewantstodoit!Sheseemseagertotellmehersideofthestory.Butshe’ssmartenoughtorecognizethatshe’sbeingmanipulated.“You’retryingtomakemeincriminatemyself.Youwantmetodrawoutaconfession,withpictures,sothepolicewillfinditandarrestme.Isthattheidea?”
“No,Caroline,I’mjusttryingtounderstandwhathappened.WhydidTeddyneedtoberescued?”
Shereachesforthetourniquetandmovesbehindmychair,butshecan’tmanagetotieitaroundmyarm.Herhandsareshakingtoomuch.“Sometimesshegetsinmyheadanditfeelslikeapanicattack.It’llgoawayinaminuteortwo.”Shesitsontheedgeofmybedandcoversherfacewithherhands.Shetakesdeepbreaths,fillingherlungswithair.“Idon’texpectyoutohaveanysympathybutthishasbeenreallyhardforme.It’slikeanightmarethatdoesn’tend.”
Herbreathingisragged.Shegrabsherkneesandsqueezeshard,asifshecanwillherselfintoastateofcalm.“TedandIusedtoliveinManhattan.RiversideHeights,UpperWestSide.IwasworkingforMountSinai,thirty-fiveyearsoldandalreadyburnedout.Mypatientshadsomanyproblems.There’sjustsomuchpainintheworld,somuchmisery.AndTed,hehadsomeboringITjobthathehated.
“Iguessweweretwoveryunhappypeopletryingtogetpregnant,andwewerefailing,andthefailuremadeusevenmoreunhappy.Wetriedalltheusualtricks:IVI,IVF,Clomidcycles.Doyouknowaboutthesethings?”Carolineshakesherhead.“Itdoesn’tmatter.Nothingworked.Wewerebothworkingcrazyhoursbutwedidn’tevenneedthemoney,becausemyfatherhadleftmeafortune.Sofinallywewerelike,screwit:Let’sleaveourjobsandtakeaone-yearsabbatical.WeboughtaplaceinupstateNewYorkonSenecaLake.Thetheorybeingthatmaybe—inamorerelaxedstateofmind—wewouldconceive.
“Theonlyproblemis,wegetupthereandwedon’thaveanyfriends.Wedon’tknowasoul.It’sjustmeandTedaloneinthiscabinallsummerlong.NowTed,hegetsreallyintowine-making.Hetakesclasseswithalocalvintner.Butme,I’msobored,Mallory.Idon’tknowwhattodowithmyself.Itrywriting,photography,gardening,breadmaking,noneofitsticks.AndIhavethishorriblerealizationthatIamjustnotaverycreativeperson.Isn’tthatanawfulthingtodiscoveraboutyourself?”
Itrytolooksympatheticandencouragehertocontinue.Thewayshetalks,you’dthinkweweremotheranddaughterchattingovercoffeeandsconesatPaneraBread.Notmeinachairwithmyarmsloopedbehindmyback,andCarolinefidgetingwithaloadedsyringe,anxiouslytwistingthebarrelbetweenherfingers.
“Theonlythingthatgivesmeanyjoyiswalking.There’saparkonSenecaLakewithniceshadedtrails,andthat’swhereIfirstmetMargit.That’sAnya’srealname:MargitBaroth.I’dseehersittingintheshadeofatree,paintinglandscapes.ShewasverytalentedandIguessIwasalittleenvious.Andshealwaysbroughtherdaughter.Shehadatwo-year-old,alittlegirlnamedFlora.Margitwouldjustplopheronablanketandignoreher.Fortwoorthreehoursatatime.She’dstickasmartphoneinthekid’shandsandthencompletelyneglecther.Andnotjustonceortwice,Mallory.Isawthemeveryweekend!Thiswastheirroutine!ItmademeangryeverytimeIwalkedpastthem.Imean—here’sthisperfectchild,thisbeautifullittlegirl,starvedforattention,andthemother’splyingherwithYouTubevideos!Likeshe’saburden!I’vereadalotofresearchonscreentime,Mallory.It’stoxicforachild’simagination.
“SoafteracoupletimesIdecidedtointervene.Iwalkedovertotheblanketandtriedtointroducemyself,butMargithadnoideawhatIwassaying.Irealizedshecouldn’tspeakEnglish.SoItriedtopantomimewhatImeant—Itriedtoshowhershewasbeinganawfulmother.AndIguessshetookthatthewrongway.Shegotangry,Igotangry,andprettysoonwewerebothscreaming,meinEnglishandsheinHungarian,untilsomepeoplefinallycameover.Theyhadtoliterallystandbetweenus.
“Afterthat,Itriedgoingtodifferentparksandtrails.ButIcouldn’tstopthinkingaboutthatlittlegirl.IfeltlikeIfailedher,likeIhadonechancetointerveneandIblewit.Sooneday,maybetwomonthsaftertheargument,Iwentbacktothelake.ItwasaSaturdaymorning,andtherewasanincrediblehot-airballoonfestival.Theydo
“AndasIstoodthere,gettingmadderandmadder,Inoticesomething.Iseethisrabbitwrigglingoutoftheground.Itmusthavebeenburrowednearby.ItpoppedoutofthegrassandshookitselfoffandFlorasawit.Shecalled,‘Anya,anya!’andshepointedtotherabbit,laughing,butMargitdidn’tturnaround.Shewastoocaughtupinherartwork.Shedidn’trealizethatherlittlegirlhadstoodupandwalkedaway,thatFlorawascrossingafieldandheadingdownintoavalley.Towardacreek,Mallory.SoIhadtodosomething,right?Icouldn’tignorewhatwashappening.IfollowedFloraintothevalley,andbythetimeIreachedher,shewascompletelylost.Shewasbawling,hysterical.IkneltbesideherandItoldhereverythingwasfine.IsaidIknewhowtofindhermommy,andIofferedtobringherback.AndIreallymeantto,Mallory.IreallymeanttobringFloraback.”
IalmostlosethethreadofthestorybecauseIamrememberingthespiritboardanditscrypticmessageandrealizingIputtoomuchfaithinGoogleTranslate.Themessagewasn’tHELPFLOWER—itwasHELPFLORA,helpherdaughter.
“Ijustwantedtospendalittletimewithher,”Carolinecontinues.“Takeashortwalkandgivehersomeattention.Ifiguredhermotherwouldn’tmind.Shewouldn’tevenknowthegirlwasmissing.Therewasalittletrailnearby,headingintoaforest,sothat’swherewewent.Intothewoods.OnlyMargitdidnoticeFloramissing.Shewaslookingalloverforher.Andsomehowshefoundus.Shefollowedusintothewoods.Andoncesherecognizedme,shewasfurious.Shestartedscreamingandwavingherarmslikeshewasreadytohitme.AndIalwayswalkwithmyViper,Icarryitforpersonalsafety,soIusedittodefendmyself.Ionlyhitheronce,justtomakeherbackoff.ButIguessshehadsomekindofneurologicaldisorderbecauseshewentdownandcouldn’tgetup.Shestartedhavingaseizure.Shewetherdress,hermuscleswereshaking.PoorFlorawasterrified.AndIknewIshouldcall911butIalsoknewhowbadthiswasgoingtolook.IknewifMargittoldherversionofthings,peoplewouldmisunderstand.
“SoItookFloraandIledherbehindatree.Itoldhertositdownandclosehereyes.Soshewouldn’tseewhathappenednext.AndIdon’tactuallyremembertherest,ifyouwanttoknowthetruth.Butthat’sthebeautyofthehumanmind.Itblocksoutallthebadstuff.YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,right?”
Shewaitsformetoanswer—andwhenIdon’t,shekeepstalking:“Anyway.Icoveredherbodywithleaves.IbroughtFlorahomeinmycar.ItoldTedwhathadhappenedandhewantedtocallthepolice,butIconvincedhimwecouldmakeeverythingright.Wewereupstateinthemiddleofnowhere.Thewomanwasanimmigrant,shecouldn’tspeakEnglish,Ifiguredshewasprobablysomeone’scleaninglady.Ifiguredifwehidherbodyandkeptthechild,noonewouldnoticehermissing.Orpeoplewouldjustthinkthatshe’drunoffwithherdaughter.Womendoitallthetime.SoIsentTedouttothepark.HegatheredtheeaselandtheblanketandallofFlora’stoys,andheburiedeverythinginthewoods.Withthebody,Imean.Hewasgoneallnight.Ittookhimforever.Hedidn’tgetbackuntilthesunwasup.
“Nowitshouldhaveendedrightthere—exceptMargit’sbrotherisactuallyareallybigdealonSenecaLake.Heownsthisstupidgoatfarmthatallthesummerpeoplelove,andhe’ssponsoredMargitandherhusband,József,tomovefromHungarytotheUnitedStatesandworkforhim.Andworse,itneveroccurstomethatMargitmusthavedriventothelakeinavehicle—aChevyTahoewithachildsafetyseat,itturnsout.ThepolicefounditinaparkinglotandbroughtouttheirK9unit.Withintwohours,they’dfoundherbody.
“Suddenlythewholecommunityislookingforamissingtwo-year-old—thegirlI’vegotscreamingandcryinginmycabin.SoIrunouttotheTarget,Ibuyherabunchofboyclothes.Sportsjerseys.Shirtswithfootballplayers.ThenIgetsomeclippersandgiveFloraabuzzcut.AndIswearitwaslikeflippingaswitch—allIdidwaschangeherhair,butyou’dswearshewasaboy.”
There’snothingraggedaboutCaroline’sbreathinganymore,andherhandshavestoppedshaking.Themoreshetalks,thebettershelooks,asifshe’sfreeingherconscienceofsomehorribleburden.
“Thenwegotinourcaranddrove.Therewasn’tanyplan.Wejustneededtogetaway,thefartherthebetter.Wedidn’tstopdrivinguntilWestVirginia,atowncalledGilbert.Populationfourhundred,everybody’sretiredinwheelchairs.Iemailedourfriendsandsaidwe’dmovedtoBarcelona,thatTedhadanopportunityhecouldn’tpassup.Thenwerentedahouseontenacresofland,noneighbors,justanicequietplacewherewecouldfocusonourbaby.
“AndMallory,Isweartoyou,itwasthehardestyearofmylife.Forsixmonths,Teddyrefusedtospeak.Hewassoscared!ButIwaspatient.Iworkedwithhimeveryday.Ishowedhimloveandattentionandaffection.Ifilledourhousewithbooksandtoysandhealthyfoods,andwemadeprogress.Hestartedcomingoutofhisshell.Helearnedtoacceptusandtrustusandnowhelovesus,Mallory.ThefirsttimehecalledmeMommy,Istartedbawling.
“Bytheendofourfirstyear,we’dmadesomereallyamazingprogress.WestartedbringingTeddyoutinpublic.Justlittlehikesortripstothegrocerystore.Normalfamilyoutings.Anditwaspicture-perfect.Ifyouhadn’tmetus,you’dhavenoideawhatwe’dbeenthrough.”Andthenhervoicetrailsoff.Asifshe’snostalgicforatimewhenshestillhadhope.
“Whathappened?”
“IjustneverimaginedMargitwouldfindus.I’vealwaysbeenanatheist.I’veneverbelievedinanykindofspiritworld.ButafterourfirstyearinWestVirginia,Teddystartedhavingavisitor.Awomaninawhitedress.Waitinginhisbedroomduringnaptime.”
“Yousawher?”
“No,never.SheonlyshowsherselftoTeddy.ButIcouldfeelher,Icouldsenseherpresence,Icouldsmellherdisgustingrottingstench.WetoldTeddyshewasanimaginaryfriend.Wesaidshewasn’treal,butitwasokaytopretendshewasreal.Hewassoyoung,hedidn’tknowanybetter.”
“Didsheevercomeafteryou?Forrevenge?”
“Oh,she’dloveto.She’dkillmeifshecould.Butherpowersarereallylimited.IguessshecanworkaOuijaboardandmoveapencilbutthat’saboutit.”
ItrytoimaginethetediumofbeingstuckinalonelyhouseontenacresoflandinthemiddleofruralWestVirginia—withnocompanionsexceptmyhusband,akidnappedchild,andavengefulspirit.I’mnotsurehowlongIwouldlastwithoutlosingmymind.
“Iknewwecouldn’tstayin‘Barcelona’forever.Weallneededtogetonwithourlives.Iwantedtoliveinaniceprettytownwithgoodschools,soTeddycouldhaveanormalchildhood.SowemovedhereinApril,andbyMother’sDayAnyawasbackinTeddy’sbedroom,singingHungarianlullabies.”
“Shefollowedyou?”
“Yes.Idon’tknowhow.Ijustknowrunningfromherisn’tanoption.Whereverwego,Anyawillfollow.Sothat’swhenIhadmybigbreakthrough:Bringinathirdparty.AnewplaymatetocompetewithAnyaforTeddy’sattention.Youweretheperfectcandidate,Mallory.Young,athletic,fullofenergy.Smartbutnottoosmart.Andyourhistoryofdrugabusewasabigplus.Iknewyouwereinsecure.Iknewthatifyousawsomecrazythings,youwoulddoubtyourownjudgment.Atleastforalittlewhile.Ijustnevercountedonthosestupiddrawings.Ineverimaginedshewouldfindawaytocommunicate.”
Carolineseemsexhausted,asifshe’sjustrelivedthelastthreeyearsofherlife.Istealanotherlookattheclock,andit’sonly11:37.Ineedtokeephertalking.“WhataboutMitzi?Whathappenedtoher?”
“Thesamethingthat’shappeningtoyou.LastThursday,acouplehoursafteryourséance,Mitzicameknockingonourdoorinapanic.Shesaidherspiritboardwouldn’tturnoff.Sheclaimedtheplan-chettewasspinningincirclesandspellingoutthesamewordoverandover:ovakodik,ovakodik,ovakodik.Mitzibroughtusbacktoherhouseandsheshowedus.Shefiguredoutthatitmeant‘beware.’Shesaidyouwererightallalong,Mallory:Ourhousewashauntedandweneededhelp.TedandIwenthomeandarguedaboutthebestthingtodo,butIfinallyconvincedhimtoholdMitzidownwhileIgavehertheoverdose.ThenhedraggedherbodyouttothewoodsandIsprinkledallthoseneedlecapsaroundherlivingroom.Leftthetourniquetonherendtable.Justenoughforthepolicetoconnectthedots.ThenwemadeupthestoryaboutMitzihavingalate-nightvisitor,sothestorywouldn’tbetooneat.”
Ichecktheclockagain—onlyanotherminutehaspassed—andthistime,Carolinecatchesme.
“Whatareyoudoing?Whyareyoulookingatthetime?”
“Noreason.”
“You’relying.Butitdoesn’tmatter.”Shestandsandreachesforthetourniquet.Herhandsaresteady.She’smovingwithrenewedconfidenceandcontrol,loopingthetourniquetaroundmyarmandknottingittight.Withinmoments,mymusclesaretingling.
“Pleasedon’tdothis.”
“I’msorry,Mallory.Iwishthingsworkedoutdifferently.”
Ifeelhersoftglovedfingerstappingonthecrookofmyarm,coaxingmyveinstoswellupandcooperate.Irealizeshe’sserious,sheintendstogothroughwiththis.“You’llfeelguiltyfortherestofyourlife,”Itellher,andI’msoscaredI’msputtering.“You’llhateyourself.Youwon’tbeabletolivewithyourself.”
Idon’tknowwhyIthinkIcanfrightenherintochanginghermind.Mywarningjustseemstomakeherangry.There’sapainfulpinchastheneedlebreaksmyskinandpuncturesthevein.“Lookatthebrightside,”shetellsme.“Maybeyou’llseeyoursisteragain.”
Andthenshedropstheplunger,injectingmewithtwothousandmicrogramsofheroinandfentanyl,enoughtobringdownahorse.MywholebodyseizesupasIfeelthefamiliarfirstchill—likesomeone’splacedanicecubeattheinjectionsite.ThelastthingIseeisCarolinehurryingoutthedoorandturningoutthelights.Shewon’tevenstaytowatchmedie.IclosemyeyesandpleadwithGodtoforgiveme,pleasepleaseforgiveme.IfeellikeI’mfallingbackinmychair,likemychairandmybodyhavecollapsedthroughthefloorandnowI’mweightless,suspendedinspace.Intravenousheroinislightning-quickandIdon’tknowhowI’mstillconscious.HowamIstillbreathing?ButthenIopenmyeyesandseeMargitwaitingintheshadows,andIrealizeI’vealreadyOD’d.
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She’shoveringinakindofmist,awomaninwhitewithlongblackhairpartedinthemiddle.Herdressisspeckledwithlittlebitsofleavesanddirt.Herfaceisobscuredbythedarknessandherheadistiltedatanangle,likeshecan’tholditupstraight.ButI’mnotfrightenedanymore.Ifanything,I’mrelieved.
Itrytostandupandgotoher,butI’mstillseatedinthechair.Mywristsarestillboundbehindmyback.
AndthenIhaveaterrifyingthought:
Isthismyafterlife?
IsthismypunishmentforthetimeI’vespentonearth?Aneternityaloneinanemptycottage,boundtoahard-backedwoodenchair?
“Idon’tknowwhatI’msupposedtodo,”Iwhisper.“Canyoupleasehelpme?”
Margitmovescloserwithoutactuallywalking.I’mawareofherscent,thatnoxiousmixofsulphurandammonia,butitdoesn’tbothermeanymore.I’msogratefulforherpresence,thesmellisalmostcomforting.AsMargitpassesthewindow,themoonlightilluminatesherfaceandbody.AndIseethatbeyondallthescratchesandblackbruisesandbrokenneck,andallthesnagsandripsinherdress,sheisashockinglybeautifulwoman.
“Youhavetohelpme,Margit.You’retheonlyonewhocanhelpme.Please.”
Shestrugglestoraiseherhead—asifshe’stryingtolistenmorecarefully—butitjustflopsbackdown,likeaflowerwithabrokenstem.Sherestsahandonmyshoulder,butIdon’tfeelanytouchorexternalpressure.Instead,I’mstruckwithanoverwhelmingsenseofsorrowandguilt.InmymindIseeaplaceI’veneveractuallyvisited—afieldbesidealake,acanvasonaneasel,achildonablanket.IrealizeIknowthisplacefrompictures—fromadrawingthatMargitleftonmyporch,andfromastackofTeddy’sartworkthatCarolinekeepsintheden.Icansummonbothpicturesfrommemory,thesamescenefromtwodifferentartists.
AndasIlookuponthewomanandchild,IcanfeelMargit’sgriefasplainlyasmyown:Ishouldhavebeenpayingmoreattention.Ishouldn’thavebeensodistracted.IfIhadjustbeenalittlemorecareful,everythingwouldstillbeokay.Ormaybeit’smygrief,becauseIalsohearMargitsaying,you’renottoblame,makepeacewiththepast,forgiveyourself.I’mnotsureifI’mconsolingherorshe’sconsolingme,Ican’ttellwheremyguiltendsandhersbegins.Maybeit’sthekindofgriefwewillneverevershake,notevenafterwe’redead
ThenthedooropensandTedturnsonthelights.
Heseesmytearsstreamingandhisfacefalls.“Oh,Jesus,”hesays.“I’msosorry,Mallory.Justsittight.”
IlookaroundforMargitbutshe’svanished.
Iamstillinmycottage.
Iamnotinsomehazyetherealafterlife,IamstillinSpringBrook,NewJersey,boundtoawoodenchairwithmyfeetonthefloor,andtheclockonthemicrowaveovensays11:52.
Icanstillfeelanicychillonthecrookofmyarm,whereCarolineinjectedtheneedle—butIamverymuchaliveandnottheleastbithigh.
“Shedruggedme.Yourwife—”
“Babypowder,”Tedsays.“Iswitchedtheheroinwithbabypowder.You’refine.”Hemovesbehindme,tuggingattheclothstrapsbindingmywriststothechair.“Gosh,shereallywentoverboardwiththeseknots.Ineedaknife.”Hegoesintothekitchenandstartsrummagingthroughthecutlerydrawer.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Protectingyou,Mallory.I’vealwaysprotectedyou.Don’tyourememberyourjobinterview?Allthoserudeandnastyquestionsaboutyourqualifications?Iwastryingtoscareyouaway.Itriedscaringallthecandidatesaway.Butyouwerepersistent.Youreallywantedtobehere.AndCarolinethoughtyouwerethesolutiontoallourproblems.”
Hecarriesaserratedbladetomychairandquicklysawsthroughtherestraints.MyarmsfalltomysideandI’mfreetomovethemagain.Slowly,carefully,Ipressmyfingerstothethrobbinglumponmyhead,andIfeellittlebitsofglassclingingtomyscalp.
“I’msorryIhityou.We’llstopatagasstationandgetyousomeice.”Tedopensthedoortomyclosetandhe’sdelightedtoseealltheemptyclotheshangers.“You’realreadypacked!That’sperfect.Mybag’sinthecar,sowe’rereadytogo.Ifigurewe’lldriveallnight.Findahoteltocatchourbreath.Thenwe’llkeeppushingwest.IfoundagorgeoushouseonAirbnb.Justtogetussettled.You’llloveit,Mallory,there’sgorgeousviewsofPugetSound.”
“Ted,slowdown.Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Helaughs.“Right,right,I’vebeenplanningsolong,Iforgotwehaven’tfullydiscussedit.ButIknowhowyoufeelaboutme,Mallory.Ifeelthesameway,andI’mreadytoactonthosefeelings.”
“Youare?”
“I’vecashedinmyIRAs,I’vegoteightygrandinabankaccountthatCarolinecan’ttouch.That’splentyforustostartover.BuildanewlifeinWashingtonstate.WhidbeyIsland.Butweneedtoleaverightnow.Beforeshecomesbacktocleanup.”
“Whyareyousoafraidofher?”
“She’soutofhermind!Don’tyourealizethatbynow?Shejusttriedtokillyou.Shewon’thesitatetokillme.AndifItellthepolice,I’llgotojail.Sowehavetorun.Rightnow.Ifweleavethekid,shewon’tfollowus.”
“YouwanttoleaveTeddy?”
“I’msorry,Mallory.Iknowyoulovehim.Ilovehim,too.He’sreallysweet.Buthecan’tcome.Idon’tneedCarolineandMargitchasingusacrossthecountry.Thekidstaysherewithhistwomommies.Theycanfighteachother,battleeachothertothedeath,Idon’tcare.Ican’ttakethisshitanymore.Idon’twanttobehereanotherminute.Thiswholenightmareendstonight,doyouunderstand?”
Outsidethecottage,wehearthetinysnapofatwig—andTedmovestothewindow,peeringoutside.Thenheshakeshishead,assuringmeit’safalsealarm.“Now,please,Ineedyoutotrystandingup.Wouldyoulikesomehelp?”Heoffersmehishand,butIwavehimawayandmanagetostandonmyown.“Thereyougo,Mallory.That’sgreat.Nowdoyouneedtousethebathroom?Becausemostplaceswon’tbeopenaftermidnight.”
Idoneedtousethebathroom—butonlyasaquietplacetosteadymythoughts.“I’lljustbeaminute.”
“Fastasyoucan,okay?”
Iclosethebathroomdoor,turnonthesink,andsplashsomecoldwateronmyface.WhatthehellamIgoingtodo?Ipatdownmypocketsbutofcoursethey’reempty.Ipokethroughthemedicinecabinetandsearchtheshowerstallbutthere’snothingIcanusetodefendmyself.Theclosestthingtoaweaponisapairoftweezers.
Thebathroomhasatinyscreenedwindow,justafewincheshigh,positionedneartheceilingforventilation.Iclosethetoiletseatandstandontopofit.Thewindowfacessouth,towardHayden’sGlen,lookingtowardtheshadowybramblesoftheforest.Imanagetopopoutthescreenandpushitoutthewindow,lettingitdroptotheflooroftheforest.ButevenifImusteredthestrengthtopullmyselfup,there’snowayIcanfitthrough.
Tedtapsonthedoor.“Mallory?Almostready?”
“Almost!”
Ihavetogowithhim.Idon’thaveanychoice.I’llgetinhisPrius,I’llsmileashedescribesWashingtonstateandWhidbeyIsland,I’lltrytosoundexcitedaboutournewlifetogether.
Butthefirsttimewepulloverforgasorfoodorwater,IwillfindapoliceofficerandIwillscreamlikehell.
Iturnoffthewater.Drymyhandsonatowel.
ThenIopenthedoor.
Tedisstandingthere,waiting.“Ready?”
“Ithinkso.”
“Youthinkso?”
Hiseyesmovepastme.Helooksintothebathroom—andIwonderwhathe’sseeing.DidIleavefootprintsontopofthetoiletseat?Hashenoticedthewindowscreenisgone?
IthrowmyarmsaroundhimandrestmyheadonhischestandIsqueezehimashardasIcan.“Thankyou,Ted.Thankyouforrescuingme.Youdon’tknowhowmuchI’vewantedthis.”
He’sstartledbythisoutburstofaffection.Hepullsmeevencloser,thenleansdowntokissmyforehead.“Ipromiseyou,Mallory,Iwillneverletyoudown.Iwillworkeverydaytomakeyouhappy.”
“Thenlet’sgetoutofhere.”
Igotoliftmysuitcaseandmytrashbagfullofclothes,butTedinsistsoncarryingthem,oneineachhand.“You’resurethisiseverythingyouneed?”
“Ted,that’severythingIown.”
Againhesmilesatmewithrealloveandaffection,andhelookslikehe’sabouttosaysomethingverysweetwhenthere’saloudPOPandabulletripsthroughhisleftshoulder,knockinghimoff-balanceandspatteringmywallwithblood.IscreamandtherearethreemorePOPs,andI’mstillscreamingasTedslumpsontothesuitcase,handsoverhischest,bloodseepingoutbetweenhisfingers.
Carolinestandsintheopenwindowofthecottage,pointingMitzi’sgunatme.She’stellingmetoshutupbutthewordsdon’tregisteruntilthefourthorfifthtime.Sheopensthedoorandwithalittleflickofthepistol’sbarrel,shegesturesformetositbackinthechair.
“Wereyouserious?”sheasks.“Wereyoureallygoingtoleavewithhim?”
Idon’tevenhearthequestions.I’mstillstaringatTed,downonthefloorandstrugglingtospeak,asifhe’sacquiredastammer.Hislipstremblelikehe’stryingtopronounceadifficultwordandhe’sdroolingblood,it’srunningredoverhischinandshirt.
“See,Ithinkyouwerelying,”Carolinecontinues.“Ithinkyouwouldprobablysayanythingtogetoutofhererightnow.ButIcanassureyouthatTedwascompletelyserious.He’shadhiseyeonyousinceyoufirstgothere.”Shepointsacrossthecottagetothewhitesmokedetectormountedonthekitchenwall.“Didyoueverwonderwhythatfirealarmneverwentoff?Evenifyouwereburningdinner?”
Idon’tanswerandsherapsthebuttofthepistolonthekitchencounter,threeloudbangs.“Mallory,Iaskedyouaquestion.Didyounoticeyoursmokealarmdoesn’twork?”
Whatthehelldoesshewantmetosay?She’spointingaguninmyfaceandI’mtooterrifiedtoanswer;I’mworriedmyfirstincorrectwordwillcausehertopullthetrigger.Ihavetolookdownatthefloortomusterthecouragetospeak.“Tedsaidthecottagehadoldwiring.Hesaiditwassomethingcalledknobandtube.”
“It’sawebcam,dummy.Tedinstalleditrightafteryourinterview.PlusasignalboostersoitwouldreachourWi-Finetwork.Hesaidhewantedtocheckonyou,makesureyouweren’tusingdrugs.A‘precautionarymeasure,’right?Butgivemeabreak.I’mnotstupid.Somenightshe’dstayawakeinhisofficeforhours,justprayingyouwouldtakeashower.Ialwayswonderedifyouknew,ifyoufeltlikeyouwerebeingwatched.”
“IthoughtitwasAnya.”
“No,mommystayswithherbabyatnight.ItwasalwaysMr.FamilyManhere.Mr.FatheroftheYear.”
Tedshakeshishead,likehewantstocontradicther,likehe’sdesperateformetoknowthetruth.Butwhenheopenshismouth,allthatcomesoutismoreblood,runningoverhischinandchest
IturntoCarolineandshe’sstillpointingthegunatme.
Iwanttosinktothefloor,cowerandbegformercy.
“Please,”Isay,raisingmyhands.“Iwon’ttellanyone.”
“Iknowyouwon’t.YoukilledTed,usingthegunyoustolefromMitzi’shouse.Thenwestruggled,butImanagedtograbawaythepistol.YoutookaknifefromthekitchendrawersoIhadtoshootyou.Itwasself-defense.”Sheglancesaroundthecottage,asifshe’stryingtoworkouttheprecisechoreographyofthesequence.“Youknow,I’mgoingtohaveyoustandclosertotherefrigerator.Nexttothecutlerydrawer.”Shepointsthegunatme.“Comeon,don’tmakemeaskagain.”
Shecomecloser—theguncomescloser—andIbackawayfromher,movingintothekitchen.
“Allright,that’sbetter.Nowreachdownandopenthedrawer.Pullitallthewayout.Thereyougo.”Shemovestotheoppositesideofthekitchencounter,thenleansoversoshecanstudytheknifeblock.“Iguessyoushouldusethechef’sblade.It’sthebigone,allthewayontheend.Reachdownandgrabthehandle.Getarealnicegriponit.”
I’msoscaredIcanscarcelymove.
“Caroline,please—”
Sheshakesherhead.“Comeon,Mallory.You’realmostdone.Reachdownandgrabtheknife.”
Andinmyperipheralvision,justoverhershoulder,Icanstillseeblooddrippingdownthewall.ButTedisnolongersittingthere.He’svanished.
Ireachdown.Putmyhandontheknife.Wrapmyfingersaroundthegrip.It’ssohardtodosomethingwhenyou’vebeentoldit’sthelastthingyou’reevergoingtodo.
“That’sit,”shesays.“Nowholditup.”
Thenshescreamsandfalls—Tedhaslungedforherlegs—andIknowthisismymoment.Stupidly,Iletgooftheknife,becauseIdon’twanttowasteevenasecondpullingitfromthedrawer.
Ijustrun.
Ithrowopenthedoorandbehindmethere’sanexplosion—agunshot,reverberatingoffthewallsofthecabin.Ileapofftheporchandhitthegrasssprinting.ForthreeterrifyingsecondsIamcompletelyvulnerable,asilhouettemovingacrossthewide-openlawn,andIbracemyselfforthenextexplosion.
Butitdoesn’thappen.Idartthroughtheshadowsonthesideofthebighouse,pastthetrashcansandrecyclingbins.Irunacrossthefrontlawnandstopattheendofthetwo-cardriveway.Alltheneighboringhousesaredark.Everyoneontheblockisfastasleep.NobodywalksonEdgewoodStreetaftermidnight.AndIdon’tdareknockonaneighbor’sdoor—Ihavenoideahowlongitwilltakesomeonetocomedownstairs.Rightnowmybiggestassetisspeed—increasingthedistancebetweenmeandCaroline.IfIsprintIcanbeattheFlowerCastleinthreeminutes,IcanbangonthedoorandscreamforAdrian’sparentstohelpme.
ButthenIglancebackattheMaxwells’houseandrealizeTeddyisstillsoundasleeponthesecondfloor.Oblivioustoallthemayheminhisbackyard.
WhatwillhappenwhenCarolinerealizesI’veescaped?
WillshetakeTeddy,throwhiminthecar,andfleetoWestVirginia?OrCalifornia?OrMexico?
Howfarwillshegotoprotecthersecret?
Backatthecottage,there’sanothergunshot.Iwanttohopeforthebest.IwanttobelievethatTedhassomehowwrestedtheweaponawayfromhiswife.Maybeinhisdyingmoments,hehasgivenmeandTeddyachancetoescape.
Butifhedidn’t—well,Istillhavetimetomakethingsright.I’mafastrunner.Iusedtobethesixth-fastestgirlinPennsylvania.IdartaroundthesideofthehousetothebackyardandthankyouJesustheslidingglassdoortothekitchenisunlocked.
Ienterthehouseandlockthedoorbehindme.Thefirstfloorisdark.Ihurrythroughthediningroomandtaketherearstairwelltothesecondfloor.IcrashintoTeddy’sbedroombutdon’tturnonthelight.Ijustpulloffhisblanketsandshakehimawake.“Getup,Teddy,wehavetogo.”Hepushesmeaway,buryinghisfaceinhispillow,butIdon’thavetimetobabyhim.Ipullhimoffthebedandhegruntsinprotest,stillhalf-asleep.
“Mallory!”
Carolineisalreadyinsidethehouse,callingtomefromthefoyer.Ihearherclimbingthewoodensteps.Iruntheotherway,takingtherearstairsbacktothekitchen.Teddycan’tweighmorethanfortypoundsbutInearlydrophimanyway;Ihoisthimovermyshoulder,steadyingmygrip,andrunoutsidetothebackpatio.
Outside,theyardisperfectlystill.AllIhearisthegentlelapofwaterintheswimmingpool,theoccasionaltrillofacicada,andmyownlaboredbreathing.ButIknowCarolineiscoming.She’seithermovingthroughtheinsideofthehouse,oradvancingaroundoneofthesides.Mysafestrouteisforward,towardtheEnchantedForest.It’salongsprintacrosstheyardbutIdon’tthinkCarolinewillshootatme,notaslongasI’mcarryingTeddy.Andoncewemakeittothetrees,wecanmakeourescape.
TeddyandIhavespentthewholesummerexploringthesewoods.Weknowallthetrailsandshortcutsanddeadendsandthereisjustenoughmoonlighttoguideourway.Itightenmygriponhisbodyandthenthrowmyselfintothebrambles,shovingthroughbranchesandvinesandstickerbushesuntilwe’reonthefamiliarterrainofYellowBrickRoad.Thetrailrunseast-west,movingparallelalongallthebackyardsonEdgewood.WefollowittothelargegrayDragon’sEggboulder,andthenIveeroffontoDragonPath.Ihearfootstepsthrashingbehindme,butinthedarknessI’velostallsenseofscaleandperspective.Ican’ttellifCaroline’sbreathingdownmyneckorahundredyardsaway.Ialsohearthefaintcryofpolicesirens,alltoolate.IfIhadjustruntotheFlowerCastle,Iwouldbesafebynow.
ButIhaveTeddysqueezedtightinmyarms,andthat’swhatreallymatters.Iwillnotletanythinghappentohim.
TheRoyalRiversoundslouderinthedarkandI’mgratefulforitsnoise,concealingmyfootsteps.ButthenwearriveatMossyBridgeandIdon’tthinkIcandoit.ThelogistoonarrowandcoveredwithmossandIcan’tcarryTeddyacross.
“T-bear,listentome.Ineedyoutowalk.”
Heshakeshisheadnoandsqueezesmetighter.Hedoesn’tknowwhat’shappeningbuthe’sterrified.Itrytosethimdownbuthisarmsarelockedaroundmyneck.Therearemoreandmorepolicesirenswailinginthedistance;theymusthavereachedtheMaxwells’bynow.Mostlikelyaneighborheardthegunshotsandcalledthepolice.Butthey’retoofarawaytohelpme.
Anarrowshaftofwhitelightcutsthroughtheforest.TheflashlightbeamonCaroline’sViper.Idon’tknowifshe’sspottedmebutIhavetokeepmoving.ItightenmygriparoundTeddyandtakeonestepontothebridge,thenanother.Icanseeenoughtodiscerntheshapeofthelog,butnotitsentiresurface.Ican’ttellwhichpartsarerottenorspeckledwithslipperymoss.Belowus,thewaterisrushingswiftly,twoorthreefeetdeep.WitheverystepforwardI’mcertainI’mgoingtoslipoffthesides,butsomehowIkeepmyfooting.IscrambleupthetrailtothebaseoftheGiantBeanstalkbeforemyarmsgiveout.Ican’tcarryTeddyanotherinch.“Buddy,Ineedyoutodothispartyourself.”Ipointuptoourhideoutintheboughsofthetree.“Comeon,youneedtoclimb.”
He’stoopetrifiedtomove.Usingthelastofmystrength,Ipushhimontothetree,andfortunatelyhegrabsabranchtosteadyhimself.ThenIpushuponhisbottomandslowly,haltingly,hestartstomove.
Theflashlightbeamsweepsacrossthebaseofthetree—Caroline’sattheriver,she’sgettingclose.Igrabthelowestlimbandpullmyselfup,followingTeddyfromboughtobough,allthewayuptoabranchwecallCloudDeck.Iwishwecouldclimbevenhigherbutthere’snotimeandIdon’tdareriskthenoise.“Thisisgood,”Iwhisper.Iputmyarmsaroundhiswaist,holdinghimclose,andlowermymouthtohisear.“Nowwejustneedtostayveryquiet,okay?Areyouallright?”
Hedoesn’tsayanything.Hisbodyistrembling;it’scoiledlikeaspring.Heseemstounderstandthatno,wearenotallright,somethingisveryverywrong.Istaredownatthegroundandwishwe’dclimbedevenhigher.We’reonlyeightortenfeetabovethetrailandifCarolinestaysonthepathshewillwalkdirectlyunderneathus.IfTeddymakessomuchasawhimper—
Ireachintothehollow,fumblingthroughourarsenalofrocksandtennisballsuntilIfindthebrokenarrow,theshort,splinteredshaftwiththepyramidbladetip.Iknowit’sauselessweaponbutit’scomfortingtohavesomething—anything—inmygrip.
AndnowIseehercoming.Carolineisoverthemossybridgeandshe’sadvancingtowardus,sweepingtheflashlightoverthepath.IwhispertoTeddythatweneedtobeveryquiet.Itellhimhe’sgoingtoseehismommybuthehastopromisenottosayanything.Andfortunatelyhedoesnotaskanyquestionsbecauseshescramblesupthetrailandstopsrightbelowourtree.Therearevoicesinthedistance,men’svoices,shouting.Adog,barking.Carolinelooksbackintheirdirection.Sheseemstounderstandshe’srunningoutoftime.I’msoscared,Iamholdingmybreath.AndmygriponTeddyissotight,hecan’thelpbutmakealittlecryofprotest.
Carolinelooksup.Shepointsherflashlightintothetreeandit’ssobrightIhavetoshieldmyeyes.“Oh,Teddy,thankgoodness!Thereyouare!Mommy’sbeenlookingallover!Whatareyoudoingupthere?”
Iseeshe’sstillholdingthepistolinheroppositehand,carryingitcasually,likeit’saniPhoneorawaterbottle.
“Stayhere,”ItellTeddy.
“No,Teddy,please,it’snotsafeupthere,”Carolinesays.“Malloryiswrong.Youneedtocomedownandwe’llgetyoubacktothehouse.Youshouldbeinbedrightnow!”
“Don’tmove,”Itellhim.“You’reokayrighthere.”
ButIcanfeelhimmovingtowardher,instinctively,drawntothesoundofhervoice.ItightenmygriparoundhiswaistandI’mshockedbythewarmthcomingoffhisbody.He’sburninglikehehasafever.
“Teddy,listentome,”Carolinesays.“YouhavetomoveawayfromMallory.She’sverysick.She’shadwhat’scalledapsychoticbreak.That’swhyshedrewalloverthewalls.ShestolethisgunfromMitziandsheusedittohurtyourdaddyandnowshe’stryingtokeepyouallforherself.Thepoliceareatourhouseandthey’relookingforusrightnow.Solet’sgetdownfromthere.Let’sgotellthemwhathappened.LeaveMalloryinthetreeandlet’sgostraightenthisout.”
Butthere’snowayCarolineisleavingmeinthetree.She’salreadytoldmetoomuch.She’stoldmethenameofTeddy’srealmother.HernamewasMargitBarothandshewasmurderednearSenecaLake.Ifthepolicedoevenacursoryinvestigationofmystory,they’llrealizeI’mtellingthetruth.Carolinehasnochoicebuttokillme.AssoonasshegetsTeddydownfromthetree.Andthenshe’lltrytospinthewholethingasself-defense.AndI’llneverknowifshegetsawaywithit,becauseI’llbedead.
“Comeon,sweetie.Weneedtogo.Saybye-byeandcomedown.”
Heshakesoffmygripandshimmiesacrossthelimb.
“Teddy,no!”
Andwhenhelooksback,Icanseethewhitesofhiseyes.Hispupilshaverolledbackintohishead.Hisrighthandreachesout,snatchingthearrowfrommygrip,andthenheleapsfromthetree.Carolineraisesherarms,likeshethinksshecanactuallycatchhim.Insteadshecollapsesbeneathhisweight,tumblingbackward.Thegunandflashlightflyfromherhands,disappearingintothebushes.Withasickeningthumpshelandsonherback,holdingTeddyclosetoherchest,protectinghimfromthefall.
“Areyouokay?Teddy,sweetie,areyouokay?”
HesitsupsohisbodyisstraddlingCaroline’swaist.She’sstillaskingifhe’sokaywhenhespearsthearrowthroughthesideofherneck.Idon’tthinksherealizesshe’sbeenstabbeduntilhepullsitoutandstabsheragain,threemoretimes,chop-chop-chop.Bythetimeshestartsscreamingshe’salreadylosthervoice;allthatcomesoutisawetgurglingyelp.
Icryout“No!”butTeddydoesn’tstop—orrather,Margitdoesn’tstop.Shecan’tcontrolmostofherson’sbody,justhisrighthandandhisrightarm—butsurprisehasgivenhertheadvantage,andCarolineischokingandgaggingonherownblood.Thedogsbarklouder,drawnbythesoundsofstruggle.Themenintheforestaregettingcloser.Theysaythey’recomingtohelpus,theyyellforustomakemorenoise.IscrambledownfromthetreeandripTeddyoffCaroline’sbody.Hisskinishottothetouch,likeaboilingpotonastove.Carolineliesthrashingonherback,clutchingtheremainsofherneck,andTeddyissoakedwithgore.It’sinhishair,alloverhisface,anddrippingfromhispajamas.AndsomehowIhavetheclaritytothinkclearly,tounderstandwhathashappened.IknowthatMargitjustsavedmylife.AndifIdon’tactveryquickly,Teddywillspendtherestofhisinaninstitution.
He’sstillclutchingthearrowinhisrighthand.Ilifthimoffthegroundandpullhimclose,squeezinghard,sothebloodspreadsfromhisclothesontomine.AndthenIcarryhimdownthetrailtothebanksoftheRoyalRiver.Istepintothewaterandmyfootsinksintothemossy,squelchymud.Itakeanotherstepandanother,wadingdeeperanddeeperuntilthewateriswaist-highandtheshockofthecoldjoltsTeddyawake.Hispupilssnapbackintoplace;hisbodygoeslimpinmyarms.Hedropsthearrow,butImanagetocatchitbeforeithitsthewaterandsinksoutofsight.
“Mallory?Wherearewe?”
Teddyisterrified.Imaginewakingfromatranceandfindingyourselfinadarkforest,uptoyourneckinacoldcreek.
“It’sokay,T-Bear.”Isplashwaterontohischeeks,scrubbingofftheworstoftheblood.“We’regoingtobeokay.Everything’sgoingtobefine.”
“Arewedreaming?”
“No,buddy,I’msorry.Thisisreal.”
Hepointstothebankoftheriver.“Whyisthereadog?”
It’sabigdog,ablackretriever,sniffingfuriouslyandbarkinglikemad.Somemencomerunningoutofthewoods,dressedinreflectivegearandwavingflashlights.
“Found’em!”amanshouts.“Womanandchild,downbythecreek!”
“Miss,areyouhurt?Areyoubleeding?”
“Isthechildokay?”
“You’resafenow,miss.”
“Letushelpyou.”
“Comeon,buddy,reachoutyourhand.”
ButTeddywrapshisarmstighteraroundmywaist,attachinghimselftomyhip.Therearemorepoliceofficersandmoredogsapproachingfromthefarsideoftheriver,closinginonusfromalldirections.
Andthenawoman’svoice,callingfromfartheraway:“Igotanotherone!Adultfemale,PNB,multipleknifewounds!”
They’vegotussurroundednow,aringofflashlightsadvancingfromeverydirection.It’snotclearwho’sinchargebecauseeverybody’stalkingatonce:It’sokay,you’reallright,it’ssafenow,buttheyseeallthebloodonourclothesandIcantellthey’refreakingout.Teddy’sfreakingout,too.Iwhisperinhisear:“It’sokay,T-Bear.They’reheretohelpus.”ThenIcarryhimtotheriverbankandgentlylowerhimtotheground.
“She’sholdingsomething.”
“Miss,what’sinyourhand?”
“Canyoushowusplease?”
OneofthecopsgrabsTeddy’sarmandyankshimtosafety,andtheyallstartshoutingagain.EveryonewantsmetostepslowlyoutofthewaterandlowerthearrowtothegroundandbythewayamIcarryinganyotherweapons?ButI’vestoppedlisteningbecauseI’venoticedanotherfigureinthedistance,standingoutsidetheringofpoliceofficers.Themoonlightglintsoffherwhitedress,andherheadlollscrookedlytooneside.Iraisemylefthand,showingeveryonethebrokenarrow.
“Itwasme,”Itellthem.“Ididit.”
ThenIholdoutmyarmandletthearrowdroptotheground.AndthenexttimeIlookup,Margitisgone.
ONEYEARLATER
It’sbeenhardtogetthisstorydownonpaper,andI’msureit’sbeenevenharderforyoutoreadit.ManytimesIwasreadytoquitwriting,butyourfatherpleadedwithmetokeepgoing,whilethedetailswerestillfreshinmymemory.Hewasconvincedthatsomedayinthefuture,tenortwentyyearsfromnow,you’dwanttoknowthetruthaboutwhatreallyhappenedthatsummerinSpringBrook.Andhewantedyoutohearthestoryfromme,notsomestupidtruecrimepodcast.
BecauseGodknowstherehavebeenplentyofpodcasts.Therehavebeenbreakingnewsstoriesandclickbaitheadlinesandlate-nighttalkshowjokesandmemesgalore.Intheweeksfollowingyourrescue,IwasapproachedbyDateline,GoodMorningAmerica,Vox,TMZ,Frontline,anddozensofothers.Ihavenoideahowalltheseproducersgotmycellphonenumberbuttheyallpromisedthesamething:Toletmetellmysideofthestory,todefendmyactionsinmyownwords,withminimalinterference.TheyalsopromisedbigbucksifIwouldagreetoanexclusiveinterview.
Butafteralongdiscussionwithyourfather,webothdecidedtostayoutofthemedia.Wereleasedajointpublicstatementsayingthatyouwerereunitedwithyourfamilyandyouneededtimetoheal,andnowwejustwantedtobeleftalone.Thenwechangedourphonenumbersandouremailaddressesandwehopedpeoplewouldforgetaboutus.Ittookafewweeks,butithappened.Eventually,therewerebiggerstories.AnutcaseinSanAntonioshotupagrocerystore.SanitationworkersinPhillywentonstrikeforeightweeks.AwomaninCanadagavebirthtooctuplets.Andtheworldmovedon.
Myfirstfewattemptsattellingthisstorywentnowhere.Icanremembersittingdownwithablankpadandtotallyfreezingup.Upuntilnow,thelongestthingI’deverwrittenwasafive-pagehighschooltermpaperonRomeoandJuliet.Sotheideaofwritingabook—arealfull-lengthbook,likeaHarryPotter—itseemedsoepic.ButImentionedthechallengestoAdrian’smotherandshegavemesomegoodadvice.ShesaidIshouldn’ttrytowriteabook,Ishouldjustsitdownatmylaptopandtellthestory,onesentenceatatime,usingthesamelanguageI’dusetotellafriendovercoffee.ShesaiditwasokaynottosoundlikeJ.K.Rowling.ItwasfineifIsoundedlikeMalloryQuinnfromPhiladelphia.AndonceIgotonboardwiththatidea,thewordsstartedflowingprettyfast.Ican’tbelieveI’mstaringatafilewith85,000ofthem.
Butlookatme,gettingaheadofmyself!
Ishouldprobablybackupandexplainafewthings.
TedMaxwelldiedfromhisgunshotinjuriesonthefloorofmycottage.Hiswife,Caroline,diedjustahalfhourlateratthebaseoftheGiantBeanstalk.Iconfessedtostabbingherinself-defenseusingthebrokenarrow(technically,aboltdesignedforcrossbows)thatwe’dfoundintheforestafewweeksearlier.Andshemighthaveactuallysurvived,exceptthetipofthearrowheadrupturedhercarotidartery,andbythetimetheEMTsarriveditwastoolate.
YouandIwerebroughttotheSpringBrookpolicestation.Youwentintoalunchroomwithableary-eyedsocialworkerandabasketofstuffedanimals,whileIwentintoawindowlesscellwithavideocamera,microphones,andaseriesofincreasinglyhostiledetectives.Tokeepyousafe,Ionlytoldapartialversionofmystory.Ididn’tmentionanyofyourmother’sdrawings.Ididn’tdescribehowshesuppliedmewithcluestohelpmeunderstandwhathappened.Infact,Inevermentionedyourmotheratall.IpretendedthatIdiscoveredtheMaxwells’secretsallonmyown.
DetectiveBriggsandherpartnerswereskeptical.TheycouldtellIwasholdingsomethingback,butIheldfasttomyversionofevents.Astheirvoicesgrewlouder,astheirquestionsbecamemoreandmoreantagonistic,Ikeptgivingthemthesameimprobableanswers.Forafewhours,IwasprettyconvincedIwouldbechargedwithadoublehomicide,thatIwouldbespendingtherestofmylifeinprison.
Butbythetimethesuncameup,itwasclearmystorycontainedatleastseveralkernelsoftruth:
AsocialworkerconfirmedthatTeddyMaxwelldid,infact,havetheanatomyofafive-year-oldgirl.
AchildnamedFloraBarothwasregisteredwiththeNationalCenterforMissingandExploitedChildren,andTeddyMaxwellmatchedallheridentifyingphysicalcharacteristics.
AninternetsearchofpropertyrecordsconfirmedthattheMaxwellspurchasedacabinonSenecaLakejustsixmonthsbeforeFlora’sdisappearance.
AquickflipthroughTed’sandCaroline’spassports(recoveredfromadresserintheirmasterbedroom)confirmedtheyhadneverbeentoSpain.
Andwhenreachedbytelephone,yourfather,József,confirmedseveralkeydetailsinmystory—includingthemakeandmodelofhiswife’sChevyTahoe,informationthatwasneverreleasedtothepublic.
Byseventhirtythenextmorning,DetectiveBriggswasgoingnextdoortoStarbuckstobringmesomeherbalteaandanegg-and-cheesesandwich.ShealsoinvitedAdriantojoinusintheinterrogationroom.Hehadspentthewholenightwaitinginthelobbyonanuncomfortablemetalbench.Hehuggedmesohard,heliftedmeoffthefloor.Andafterwebothstoppedcrying,Ihadtotellhimthewholestoryalloveragain.
“I’msorryIdidn’tgettheresooner,”hesaid.
ItturnedoutthatAdrianwasthepersonwhocalled911—afterarrivingatmycottageandfindingTedMaxwelldeadonmyfloor.
“InevershouldhavegonetoOhio,”hecontinued.“IfI’dstayedwithyouinSpringBrook,noneofthiswouldhavehappened.”
“Ormaybewe’dbothbedead.Youcan’tobsessoverwhat-ifscenarios,Adrian.Youcan’tblameyourself.”
ThedrivefromSenecaLaketoSpringBrooktakesaboutfivehours,butthatmorningyourfathermadethetripinthreeandahalf.Icanonlyimaginewhatwasgoingthroughhismindashebarreleddowntheinterstate.AdrianandIwerestillatthepolicestation,plyingourselveswithsugarysnackstostayawake,whenyourfatherarrived.IcanstillremembertheprecisemomentwhenDetectiveBriggsledhimintotheroom.Hewastallandthinwithshaggyhair,anunkemptbeard,anddeepsunkenwateryeyes.AtfirstIthoughthemightbeacriminalfromaneighboringcell.Buthewasdressedlikeafarmer,withworkbootsandDickiespantsandabutton-downflannelshirt.Andhekneltdownandtookmyhandandstartedtocry.
Icouldwriteanentirebookabouteverythingthathappenednext,butI’lltrytokeepthingsbrief.YouandyourfatherwentbacktoSenecaLake,andAdrianmovedbacktoNewBrunswicktofinishhislastyearatRutgers.Heinvitedmetocomewithhim,toliverent-freeinhisapartmentwhileIfiguredoutthenextstageofmylife.Butmywholeworldhadturnedupsidedown,andIwasafraidofmakingbigcommitmentsinamomentofweakness.SoImovedtomysponsor’sguestbedroominNorristown.
Youmightnotthinkofasixty-eight-year-oldmanastheidealroommate,butRussellwasquietandcleanandhekeptourpantriesstockedwithcountlessvarietiesofproteinpowder.Itookajobatarunningshoestore,justtogetsomemoneyrollingin.TheotheremployeeshadalittleinformalrunningclubandIstartedgoingoutwiththem,twoorthreemorningsaweek.Ifoundagoodchurchwithplentyoftwenty-andthirty-somethingparishioners.IstartedattendingNAmeetingsagain,sharingmystoriesandexperienceswiththegoalofhelpingothers.
IwantedtovisityouinOctober,foryoursixthbirthday,butyourdoctorsadvisedagainstit.Theysaidyouwerestilltoofragileandvulnerable,thatyouwerestill“assembling”yourtrueidentity.Wewereallowedtospeakonthephone,butonlyifyouinitiatedtheconversation,andyounevershowedanyinterestinspeakingtome.
Still,yourfathercalledonceortwiceamonthtoupdatemeonyourprogress,andweexchangedalotofemails.Ilearnedthatyouandyourfatherweresharingabigfarmhousewithyourauntanduncleandcousins,andinsteadofstartingkindergarten,youparticipatedinaslewoftherapyprograms:arttherapy,talktherapy,musictherapy,puppetsandrole-playing,theworks.Yourdoctorswereastonishedbythefactthatyouhadnomemoryofbeingrousedfrombed,draggedintothewoods,andpushedupintoatree.Theyconcludedthatyourbrainhadrepressedthesememoriesasaresponsetothetrauma.
Yourfatherwastheonlypersonwhoknewwhatreallyhappenedintheforestthatnight.Itoldhimthewholestory,andofcourseitsoundscrazy,butonceIsentcopiesofyourmother’sdrawings,inherinimitablestyle,hehadnodoubtIwastellingthetruth.
Yourdoctorsgaveyouaveryabridgedversionofthefacts.YoulearnedthatyouwerebornagirlnamedFloraandyourrealparentswereJózsefandMargit.YoulearnedthatTedandCarolinewereverysickpeoplewhomadealotofmistakes,andtheirbiggestmistakewastakingyouawayfromyourparents.Theirsecond-biggestmistakewasdressingyouinboyclothesandchangingyournamefromFloratoTeddy.Goingforward,thedoctorsexplained,youcouldchoosetobecalledFloraorTeddyorSomeBrand-NewName,andyoucouldchoosetodressasaboyoragirloralittlebitofboth.Noonepressuredyoutomakeanyquickdecisions.Youwereencouragedtotakeyourtimeanddowhateverfeltright.Thedoctorswarnedthatyouwouldlikelyspendyearsgrapplingwithyourgenderidentity,butthedoctorswerewrong.Withineightweeksyouwereborrowingyourcousin’sdressesandbraidingyourhairandansweringto“Flora,”sotherereallywasn’tmuchconfusion.Deepdowninside,Ithinkyoualwaysknewyouwereagirl.
AfewdaysbeforeHalloween,Iansweredthephoneandwasshockedtohearmymother’svoice.Shesaidmynameandimmediatelyburstintotears.Apparentlyshe’dbeenfollowingourstoryonthenewsandshe’dspentweekstryingtoreachme—butwithallmyeffortstoavoidthemedia,I’dmademyselfimpossibletofind.Shesaidshewasproudofmeforgettingsober,andshemissedmeandwouldIpleaseconsidercominghomefordinner?Ikeptmycomposurejustlongenoughtoask“When?”andshesaid,“Whatareyoudoingrightnow?”
Mymotherhadfinallyquitsmokingandshelookedgreat,andIwassurprisedtolearnthatshe’dremarried.Hernewhusband,Tony—themanI’dglimpsedontheladder,clearingleavesfromthegutters—wasagem.TheyhadmetinasupportgroupafterTonylosthissontomethamphetamines.HehadagoodjobmanagingaSherwin-Williamsstoreandhechanneledallhisexcessenergyintohomeimprovementprojects.He’dpaintedeveryroominthehouseandrepointedallthebricksoutfront.Thebathroomwascompletelyrenovated,withanewshowerandtub,andmyoldbedroomhadbeenconvertedintoafitnessroomwithanexercisebikeandatreadmill.Thebiggestsurprisewaslearningthatmymotherhadstartedrunning!Allthroughhighschool,BethandIcouldneverdragheroffthecouch,butnowshewaspacingnine-minutemiles.NowshehadLycrashortsandaFitbitandeverything.
MymotherandIsatinthekitchenandtalkedallafternoonandlateintothenight.IwaspreparedtotellherthewholestoryoftheMaxwells,butshealreadyknewmostofthedetails.Shehadagiantfolderstuffedwithprintoutsofstoriesshe’dreadontheInternet.She’dclippedeveryarticlefromtheInquirerandpastedthemintoascrapbook.Shesaidshe’dbecomeaminor-leaguecelebrity,thatallmyoldneighborsweresoproudofme.She’dkeptalistofallthepeoplewho’dcalledthehousehopingtoreconnectwithme—friendsfromhighschool,oldteammatesandcoaches,myhousematesatSafeHarbor.Momhaddutifullyrecordedalltheirnamesandnumbers.“Youshouldcallthesepeople,Mallory.Letthemknowhowyou’redoing.Oh!AndInearlyforgotthestrangestone!”Shecrossedthekitchentoherrefrigeratorandliftedamagnettoretrieveabusinesscard:Dr.SusanLowenthalattheUniversityofPennsylvaniaPerelmanSchoolofMedicine.“Thiswomanactuallyknockedonmydoor!Shesaysshemetyouinsomekindofresearchproject?Andshe’sspentyearstryingtotrackyoudown.Whattheheckisshetalkingabout?”
ItoldherIwasn’treallysureandthenIputthecardinmywalletandchangedthesubject.Istillhaven’tmusteredthenervetocallthephonenumber.I’mnotsureIwanttohearwhatDr.Lowenthalhastotellme.Idefinitelydon’twantanymorepublicattentionorcelebrity.
Rightnow,Ijustwantlifetobenormal.
BylateJuly—afullyearsinceweleftSpringBrook—Iwasgettingreadytomoveintoasober-livingdormitoryatDrexelUniversity.Iwasthirtymonthscleanandfeelinggreataboutmyrecovery.Afterayearofdeliberatingnextsteps,I’dsettledongoingtocollegeandstudyingtobecomeateacher.Iwantedtoworkinelementaryeducation,preferablyinakindergartenclassroom.Ireachedouttoyourfatherforthehundredthtimeandaskedifasummervisitmightbepossible.Andthistime,miraculously,yourdoctorssaidokay.Theyfeltyouwereadaptingwelltoyournewlifeandagreeditcouldbehealthyforustoreconnect.
Adriansuggestedweturnthevisitintoavacation—ourfirstbigtriptogether.We’dkeptintouchallthroughtheyearashefinishedhisclassesatRutgers.HegraduatedinMayandgotajobatComcast,inoneofthebigskyscrapersinCenterCityPhiladelphia.AdrianproposedthatwevisityouinupstateNewYork,thencontinuenorthtoNiagara
YoulivedwestofSenecaLakeinatowncalledDeerRunandyournewneighborhoodwasnothinglikeSpringBrook.TherewerenoStarbucksorstripmallsorbig-boxstores—justlongstretchesofforestsandfarmland,withhousesfewandfarbetween.ThelastmileofourtripwasdownawindinggravelroadthatledtothegatesofBarothFarms.Yourfatheranduncleraisedgoatsandchickens,andyourauntsoldmilk,eggs,andcheesetowealthytouristsontheFingerLakes.Yournewhomewasasprawlingtwo-storyloghomewithagreenshingledroof.Goatsweregrazinginanearbypen,andIcouldhearchickenscluckinginthebarn.Thewholeplacefeltoddlyfamiliartome,eventhoughIwascertainI’dneverbeenanywherelikeit.
“Areyouready?”Adrianasked.
Iwastoonervoustoanswer.Ijustgrabbedmybagofgifts,walkedupthestepstoyourfrontdoor,andrangthebell.Itookadeepbreath,bracingmyselffortheshockofseeingyouasalittlegirl.Iwasafraidofhavingaweirdreaction,somethingthatmightembarrassyouormeorbothofus.
Butyourfatheranswered.Hesteppedoutsideontotheporchandwelcomedmewithahug.He’dputonsomeweight,thankgoodness.Maybefifteenortwentypounds.Hewasdressedincrispdenimjeans,asoftflannelshirt,andblackboots.HestartedtoshakeAdrian’shand—butthenhehuggedhim,too.
“Comein,comein,”hesaid,laughing.“It’sgoodyouarehere.”
Inside,thehousewasallwarmwoodsandrusticfurniture,withbigwindowsoverlookingbrightgreenpastures.YourfatherledusintotheGreatRoom,asortofliving-room-kitchen-dining-roomwithamassivestonefireplaceandstairswindinguptothesecondfloor.Therewereplayingcardsandjigsawpuzzlepiecesscatteredalloverthefurniture.Yourfatherapologizedfortheclutter;hesaidyourauntandunclehadbeencalledawayonabusinessemergency,andthey’dlefthimwithallthechildren.Icouldheareveryoneplayingupstairs,shriekingandlaughing,fiveyoungvoicestalkingatthesametime.Yourfatherseemedexasperated,butIassuredhimitwasfine.Isaiditwasgreattoknowthatyouhadfriends.
“IwillcallFlorasoon,”hesaid.“First,let’sjustrelax.”HebroughtoutcoffeeforAdrianandamugofherbalteaforme.Healsosetoutaplatteroftinypastriesstuffedwithapricot.“Thesearekolache,”hesaid.“Please,take.”
HisEnglishhadimprovedtremendouslyoverthepastyear.Hestillhadanunmistakableaccent—“these”soundedlike“deese”and“we’ll”cameout“vill”—butforsomeonewho’donlybeeninthecountryforafewyears,Ithoughthewasdoingremarkablywell.Inoticedalargepaintinghangingoverthefireplace,astilllakeonaplacidsunnyday.Iaskedifitwasyourmother’sworkandyourfathersaidyes,andthenhewalkedusaroundtheGreatRoom,showingoffherotherpaintings.Theywerehanginginthekitchen,inthediningroom,inthestairwell—alloverthehouse,really.Yourmotherwasverytalented,andyourfatherwassoproudofher.
Iaskedifyouwerestilldrawing,ifyouwerestillinterestedinart,andyourfathersaidno.“ThedoctorstalkaboutTeddy’sWorldandFlora’sWorld.Andthereisnotmuchoverlap.Teddy’sworldhadswimmingpools.Flora’sworldhasFingerLakes.Teddy’sworldhadlotsofdrawing.Flora’sworldhaslotsofcousinswhohelpraiseanimals.”
Iwasalittleafraidtoaskmynextquestion,butIknewI’dhaveregretsifIdidn’t.
“WhataboutAnya?IsshepartofFlora’sworld?”
Yourfathershookhishead.“No,Floradoesnotseeheranyaanymore.”Justforamoment,Ithinkhesoundsdisappointed.“Butitisbetterthisway,ofcourse.Thisishowthingsoughttobe.”
Icouldn’treallythinkofhowtorespond,soIlookedoutsidetoahalf-dozengoatsgrazinginthegrass.Icouldstillhearyourcousinsplayingupstairs,andsuddenlyIrecognizedthepitchandcadenceofyourvoice.YousoundedjustlikeIremembered.YourcousinswereactingoutscenesfromTheWizardofOz.YouwereDorothy,andoneofyourcousinswasthemayorofMunchkinland,andshewasinhalingheliumfromaballoontomakehervoicesoundfunny.“GoseetheWizard!”shecroaked,andyouallexplodedwithgigglesandlaughter.
Thenallfiveofyoucamemarchingdownstairssinging“We’reOfftoSeetheWizard.”Youroldestcousinwastwelveorthirteenandtheyoungestgirlwasatoddlerandtherestweresomewhereinbetween.Andeventhoughyourhairwaslongerandyouwerewearingabrightbluedress,Irecognizedyouimmediately.Yourfacewasexactlythesame.Everythingsurroundingyourfacewasdifferent—butallthesoftsweetfeatureswerestillthere.Youwerecarryingadrummajor’sbatonandwavingithighoveryourhead.
“Flora,Flora,wait!”yourfathercalled.“Thereareguests.MalloryandAdrian.FromNewJersey,remember?”
Theotherchildrenstoppedandgapedatus,butyoudidn’tmakeeyecontact.
“We’regoingoutside,”theoldestexplained.“We’regoingtotheEmeraldCityandshe’sDorothy.”
“Floracanstay,”Józsefsaid.“SomeoneelsecanbeDorothy.”
Theyallstartedprotesting,listingallthereasonswhythiswasunfairandimpractical,butJózsefchasedthemoutthedoor.“Florastays.Therestofyoucomebacklater.Halfhour.Goplayoutside.”
Yousatbesideyourfatheronthecouchbutstillwouldn’tlookatme.Itwasreallyremarkablehowabluedressandslightlylongerhairshiftedmyentireperceptionofyou.Justafewsubtlecuesandmybraindidtherestofthework,flippingalltheswitches.Youusedtobeaboy.Now,youwereagirl.
“Flora,youlookbeautiful,”Isaid.
“Muybonita,”Adriansaid.“Yourememberme,too,right?”
Younoddedbutkeptyoureyesonthefloor.Itremindedmeofmeetingyouforthefirsttime,duringmyjobinterview.Youweredrawingonyoursketchpad,refusingtomakeeyecontact.AndIhadtoworkalittlebittocoaxyouintoaconversation.Itfeltlikeweweretwostrangersagain,likewewerestartingover.
“Iheardyou’restartingfirstgradenextmonth.Areyouexcited?”
Youjustshrugged.
“I’mstartingschool,too.I’mgoingtobeafreshmanincollege.AtDrexelUniversity.I’mgoingtostudyeducationandbecomeakindergartenteacher.”
Yourfatherseemedgenuinelyhappyforme.Hesaid,“That’sgoodnews!”andhespokeforseveralminutesaboutstudyingagriculturebackinHungary,attheUniversityofKaposvár.AndIfeltlikehewasovercompensating,tryingtotalkoveralltheawkwardsilences.
SoItriedadifferentapproach.
“Ibroughtpresents.”Ipassedmyshoppingbagacrosstheroom,andIswearI’veneverseenachildlooksoafraidtoreceivegifts.Youactuallybackedawayfromthebag,likeyouthoughtitmightbefullofsnakes.
“Flora,thisisgood,”yourfathersaid.“Openthebag,please.”
Youpulledthewrappingpaperoffthefirstpackage—aboxofwatercolorpencilsinaspectrumofcolors.Iexplainedthattheyworkedlikeregularpencils,butifyouaddedadropofwateryoucouldbrushthecoloraround,andtheeffectwasabitlikepainting.“Theladyattheartstoresaidthey’rereallyfun.Incaseyouwanttotrydrawingagain.”
“Andbeautifulcolors,”yourfathersaid.“Whatanice,thoughtfulgift!”
Yousmiledandsaid“thankyou”andthenrippedthewrappingpaperoffthenextgift—sixwaxyyellowfruitsnestledinaboxofwhitetissuepaper.
Youjuststaredatme,waitingforanexplanation.
“Don’tyouremember,Flora?They’restarfruits.Fromthegrocerystore.Rememberthedayweboughtastarfruit?”Iturnedtoyourfather.“SomedayswewouldwalktothesupermarketforMorningActivity,andIwouldletFlorabuyanythingshewanted.Anyonefooditem,butithadtobeafoodwe’dnevertriedbefore,andithadtocostlessthanfivedollars.Soonedayshepickedoutastarfruit.Andwethoughtitwasincredible!Itwasthebestthingwe’devertasted!”
Onlythendidyoufinallystartnodding,likethestorysoundedfamiliar,butIwasn’tsureifyoureallyremembered.AndbythispointIfeltembarrassed.Iwantedtotakebackthetotebag—Ireallydidn’twantyoutoopenthelastgift—butitwastoolate.YouyankedoffthepaperandrevealedasmallbookletcalledMALLORY’SRECIPESthatIprintedupatacopyshop.Ihadtypeduptheingredientsandinstructionsforallthedessertswe’dmadetogether—thecupcakesandthecreamcheesebrownies,themagiccookiebarsandthehomemadechocolatepudding.“Incaseyoueverwanttohavethemagain.Incaseyouwanttotryanyofouroldfavorites.”
Andyousaidthankyou,verypolitely,butIcouldtellthebookwouldbeputawayonashelfandnevertouched.
Suddenly,itwaspainfullycleartomewhyyourdoctorsdidn’twantmetovisit—itwasbecauseyoudidn’twantmetovisit.Youweretryingtoforgetme.Youdidn’treallyknowwhathappenedinSpringBrook—butyouknewitwasbad,youknewthesubjectmadegrown-upsuncomfortable,youknewpeoplewerehappierdiscussingotherthings.Soyouweremovingon,youwereadaptingtoyournewlife.Andwithastunningshockofclarity,IrealizedIwouldneverbepartofit.
Thefrontdoorswungopenandyourcousinscamemarchingbackintothehouse,triumphantlysinging“Ding-Dong!TheWitchIsDead!”astheystompedupstairstothesecondfloor.Youturnedtoyourfatherwithapleadingexpressionandhisfaceturnedpink.Hewasmortified.“Thisisveryrude,”hewhispered.“MalloryandAdriandrovealongwaytoseeus.Theybroughtyouverygenerousgifts.”
ButIdecidedtoletyouoffthehook.
“It’sfine,”Isaid.“Idon’tmind.I’mgladyouhavesomanyfriends,Flora.Itmakesmereallyhappy.Youshouldgoupstairsandplaywiththem.Andgoodluckinfirstgrade,okay?”
Yousmiledandsaid,“Thanks.”
AndIwouldhaveappreciatedahug,too,butIhadtosettleforaquickwavefromacrosstheroom.ThenyouboundedupstairsafteryourcousinsandIcouldhearyougleefullyjoiningthemforthefinallyric,shoutingoveralltheirvoices:“Ding-dong,thewickedwitchisdeeeeeeead!”Andthenyouallexplodedwithshrieksandlaughterwhileyour
Heofferedusmoreteaandcoffeeandsaidhehopedwewouldstillstayforlunch.HeexplainedthatyourauntZoehadmadepaprikas,akindofgoatstewservedwitheggnoodles.ButIsaidweshouldprobablygetgoing.IexplainedthatweweredrivingtoCanada,thatwewerevisitingNiagaraFallsandToronto.AdrianandIlingeredjustlongenoughtobepolite,andthenwegatheredourthings.
YourfathercouldtellIwasdisappointed.“Wecantryagaininafewyears,”hepromised.“Aftershegetsolder.Aftersheknowsthewholestory.Iknowshewillhavequestions,Mallory.”
Ithankedhimforallowingmetovisit.ThenIkissedhimonthecheekandwishedhimgoodluck.
Oncewewereoutside,Adrianputhisarmaroundmywaist.
“It’sokay,”Itoldhim.“I’mfine.”
“Sheseemsgreat,Mallory.Shelookshappy.She’sonabeautifulfarmwithfamilyandnature.It’sgorgeoushere.”
AndIknewthiswasalltrue,butstill
IguessI’dhopedforsomethingdifferent.
WefollowedthewindinggraveldrivewaybacktoAdrian’struck.Hewalkedaroundtothedriver’ssideandunlockedthedoors.AndIwasreachingforthehandlewhenIheardsoftfootstepsrunningupbehindmeandIfeltthefullforceofyourbodyslammingintomyhips.Iturnedaroundandyouwrappedyourarmsaroundmywaist,buryingyourfaceinmybelly.Youdidn’tsayanythingbutyoudidn’tneedto.AndI’veneverbeenmoregratefulforahug.
Thenyoubrokeawayandranbacktoyourhouse,butnotbeforepushingafoldedsheetofpaperintomyhands—onelastdrawingtosaygoodbye.AndthatwasthelasttimeIeversawyou.
ButIknowyourfatherisright.
Somedayinthefuture,tenortwentyyearsfromnow,youwillbecomecuriousaboutyourpast.YouwillreadtheWikipediaarticleaboutyourabduction,youwilldiscoveralltherumorssurroundingyourcase,youmayevenspotoneortwoinconsistenciesintheofficialpolicereport.YoumightwonderhowtheMaxwellsfooledsomanypeopleforsolong,orhowatwenty-one-year-oldaddictpiecedtogetherthewholepuzzle.You’regoingtohavequestionsaboutwhatreallyhappenedinSpringBrook.
Andwhenthatdaycomes,thisbookwillbewaiting.
I’llbewaiting,too.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’msogladWillStaehleandDoogieHorneragreedtodrawthepicturesinthisbook—longbeforeIhadacontract,oramanuscript,orevenaclearideaofwhatthepicturesmightbe.Thanks,guys,foryourfaithinthisproject,fortheterrificartwork,andforkeepingmecompanyduringthelockdown.
Dr.JillWarringtonsharedvaluableinsightsonaddiction,recovery,andprescriptionpainkillers,andherdaughterGracealertedmetosomeembarrassingfirst-draftmistakes.RickChillotandSteveHockensmithgavemeclosereadsandgoodideas.NickOkrenthelpedwithfairytaleresearch.DeirdreSmerillohelpedwithlegalquestions.JaneMorleygavemeinformationaboutdistancerunning.AndEdMilanosharedadditionalperspectiveonaddictionandrecovery.
DougStewartisagreatguyandafantasticliteraryagent.HeintroducedmetoZackWagman,aterrificeditorwhosuggestedmanysmartwaystoimprovethisbook.Thanksalsoto:MaxineCharles,KeithHayes,ShellyPerron,MollyBloom,DonnaNoetzel,andeveryoneatFlatironBooks;DarcyNicholsonatLittleBrownUK;BradWoodandtherestoftheMacmillansalesforce;SzilviaMolnar,DanielleBukowski,andMariaBellatSterlingLordLiteristic;RichGreenandEllenGoldsmith-VeinattheGothamGroup;CaspianDennisatAbnerStein;DylanClark,BrianWilliams,andLaurenFosteratDylanClarkProductions;andMandyBecknerandLiyaGaoatNetflix.
AboveallIamgratefultomyfamily,especiallymymother(whoworkedasananny),mysonSam(across-countryrunner),andmydaughterAnna(whohasbeendrawingsinceshecouldholdapencil).Icouldn’thavewrittenthisbookwithoutthem.Orwithoutmywife,JulieScott,whohasthisbook’sdedicationandallmylove.XOXOXO.
ALSOBYJASONREKULAK
TheImpossibleFortress
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
JasonRekulakistheauthorofTheImpossibleFortress,whichwastranslatedintotwelvelanguagesandwasnominatedfortheEdgarAward.Formanyyears,hewasthepublisherofQuirkBooks,anindependentpress,whereheacquiredandeditedmultipleNewYorkTimesbestsellers.HelivesinPhiladelphiawithhisfamily.Youcansignupforemailupdateshere
Thankyouforbuyingthis
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Orvisitusonlineat
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Foremailupdatesontheauthor,clickhere
Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.
HIDDENPICTURES.Copyright?2022byJasonRekulak.Originalartwork?2022byWillStaehleandDoogieHorner.Allrightsreserved.Forinformation,addressFlatironBooks,120Broadway,NewYork,NY10271.
www.flatironbooks.com
CoverdesignbyWillStaehle
Coverart:abstractcolors?VolodymyrGoinyk/Shutterstock.com;carwithheadlight?AlexussK/Shutterstock.com
TheLibraryofCongresshascatalogedtheprinteditionasfollows:
Names:Rekulak,Jason,author.|Staehle,Will,illustrator.|Horner,Doogie,illustrator.
Title:Hiddenpictures/JasonRekulak;illustrationsbyWillStaehleandDoogieHorner.
Description:FirstEdition.|NewYork:FlatironBooks,2022.
Identifiers:LCCN2021055576|ISBN9781250819345(hardcover)|ISBN9781250870261(internationaledition)|ISBN9781250819369(ebook)
Classification:LCCPS3618.E57275H532022|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2021055576
eISBN9781250819369
Ourebooksmaybepurchasedinbulkforpromotional,educational,orbusinessuse.PleasecontacttheMacmillanCorporateandPremiumSalesDepartmentat1-800-221-7945,extension5442,orbyemailatMacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com
FirstU.S.Edition:2022
FirstInternationalEdition:2022
CONTENTS
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
OneYearLater
Acknowledgments
AlsobyJasonRekulak
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright