The Other Mrs. (Mary Kubica)

Shetriedtorun,butshecan’tescapetheotherMrs.
SadieandWillFousthaveonlyjustmovedtheirfamilyfrombustlingChicagotosmall-townMainewhentheirneighborMorganBainesisfounddeadinherhome.Themurderrockstheirtinycoastalisland,butnooneismoreshakenthanSadie.
Butit’snotjustMorgan’sdeaththathasSadieonedge.It’stheeerieanddecrepitoldhometheyinherited.It’sWill’sdisturbedteenageniece,Imogen,withherthreateningpresence.Andit’sthetroublingpastthatcontinuestowearattheseamsoftheirfamily.
Astheeyesofsuspicionturntowardthenewfamilyintown,SadieisdrawndeeperintothemysteryofMorgan’sdeath.ButSadiemustbecareful,forthemoreshediscoversaboutMrs.Baines,themoreshebeginstorealizejusthowmuchshehastoloseifthetruthevercomestolight.
PraiseforTheOtherMrs.
“Kubicaratchetsuptensionandintrigue.Seductive,seeminglyunknowable,andaltogetherunpredictable.”
—KarinSlaughter,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheLastWidow
“Itorethroughthetwisty,spine-tinglinglycreepypages.TheOtherMrs.isMaryKubica’sbestbookyet!”
—SarahPekkanen,NewYorkTimesbestsellingcoauthorofAnAnonymousGirl
“Alabyrinthofdeceptionandfamilysecrets,withanendingthatleftmethunderstruck.”
—SamanthaDowning,bestsellingauthorofMyLovelyWife
“Brilliant!Anutterlyabsorbingtale.Kubicaisamasterofsleightofhand.”
—LivConstantine,bestsellingauthorofTheLastMrs.ParrishandTheLastTimeISawYou
“Brilliantlypropulsiveandengrossing….TheOtherMrs.isthatrarething:athrillerwithheart.”
—JPDelaney,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofTheGirlBefore
“Terrifying.TheOtherMrs.isMaryKubica’sbestworkyet.”
—CarolineKepnes,authorofYou
MARYKUBICAistheNewYorkTimesandinternationallybestsellingauthorofseveralthrillers,includingTheGoodGirl,whichhasnowsoldoveronemillioncopies.SheholdsabachelorofartsdegreeinhistoryandAmericanliteraturefromMiamiUniversityinOxford,Ohio.ShelivesoutsideChicagowithherhusbandandtwochildren,andenjoysphotography,gardeningandcaringfortheanimalsatalocalshelter.
MaryKubica.com
AlsobyMaryKubica
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PrettyBaby
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EveryLastLie
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TheOtherMrs.
MaryKubica
ForMichelleandSara
Contents
SADIESADIESADIECAMILLESADIECAMILLESADIESADIEMOUSESADIECAMILLESADIEMOUSESADIECAMILLESADIESADIESADIESADIEMOUSESADIECAMILLESADIECAMILLESADIEMOUSESADIESADIEMOUSESADIEMOUSESADIESADIESADIESADIEMOUSESADIEMOUSESADIESADIEWILLSADIEWILLSADIEWILLSADIEWILLSADIEWILLSADIEWILLSADIESADIEAUTHOR’SNOTEACKNOWLEDGMENTSSADIE
There’ssomethingoffaboutthehouse.Somethingthatnagsatme,makesmefeeluneasy,thoughIdon’tknowwhatitisthatmakesmefeelthisway.Onthesurface,it’sperfectlyidyllic,graywithalargecoveredporch,onethatrunsthefullwidthofthehouse.It’sboxyandbig,afoursquarefarmhousewithwindowsalignedinrows,symmetricalinawayIfindeye-pleasing.Thestreetitselfischarming,slopedandtree-covered,eachhomeaslovelyandwellkeptasthenext.
Onthesurface,there’snothingnottolike.ButIknowbetterthantotakethingsatfacevalue.Itdoesn’thelpthattheday,likethehouse,isgray.IfthesunwereoutmaybeI’dfeeldifferently.
“Thatone,”IsaytoWill,pointingatitbecauseit’sidenticaltotheoneinthepicturethatwasgiventoWillfromtheexecutoroftheestate.He’dflowninlastweek,toPortland,totakecareoftheofficialpaperwork.Thenhe’dflownback,sowecoulddriveheretogether.Hehadn’thadtimetoseethehousethen.
Willpauses,bringingthecartorestinthestreet.HeandIleanforwardinourseatsatexactlythesametime,takingitin,asdotheboysinthebackseat.Noonespeaks,notatfirst,notuntilTateblurtsoutthatthehouseisgigantic—transposinghissoftandhishardg’sasseven-year-oldshaveatendencytodo—andWilllaughs,overjoyedthatsomeonebesideshimcanseetheadvantageofourmovetoMaine.
Thehouseisnotgigantic,notreally,butincomparisontoa1,200-square-footcondo,itis,especiallywhenitcomeswithitsownyard.Tatehasneverhadhisownyardbefore.
Willgentlystepsonthegas,easingthecarintothedriveway.OnceinPark,weclimbout—somemorequicklythanothers,thoughthedogsarethequickestofall—stretchingourlegs,grateful,iffornothingelse,tobedonewiththelongdrive.TheairoutsideisdifferentthanwhatI’musedto,infusedwiththescentofdampearth,saltyoceanandthewoodsyterrain.Itsmellsnothinglikehome.ThestreetisquietinawayIdon’tlike.Aneeriequiet,anunsettlingquiet,andatonceI’mremindedofthenotionthatthere’ssafetyinnumbers.Thatbadthingsarelesslikelytohappenamongcrowds.There’samisconceptionthatrurallivingisbetter,saferthanurbanliving,andyetit’ssimplynottrue.Notwhenyoutakeintoaccountthedisproportionatenumberofpeoplelivingincities,theinadequatehealthcaresysteminruralparts.
IwatchWillwalktowardtheporchsteps,thedogsrunningalongbesidehim,passinghimup.He’snotreluctantlikeme.Hestrutsasmuchashewalks,anxioustogetinsideandcheckthingsout.Ifeelresentfulbecauseofit,becauseIdidn’twanttocome.
Atthebaseofthestepshehesitates,awareonlythenthatI’mnotcoming.Heturnstowardme,standingstillnexttothecar,andasks,“Everythingallright?”Idon’tanswerbecauseI’mnotsureifeverythingisallright.
TategoesdashingafterWill,butfourteen-year-oldOttohoverslikeme,alsoreluctant.We’vealwaysbeensomuchalike.
“Sadie,”Willsays,modifyinghisquestion,askingthistime,“areyoucoming?”Hetellsmeit’scoldout,afactofwhichIwasunawarebecauseofmyfocusonotherthings,likehowthetreesaroundthehousetowerhighenoughtoblockthelight.Andhowdangerouslyslickthesteepstreetmustbewhenitsnows.Amanstandsupatthetopofthehill,onhislawnwitharakeinhand.He’sstoppedrakingandstandsperched,watchingme,Ithink.Iraiseahandandwave,theneighborlythingtodo.Hedoesn’twaveback.Heturnsaway,goesbacktoraking.MygazegoesbacktoWill,whosaysnothingoftheman.SurelyhesawhimaswellasIdid.
“Comeon,”Willsaysinstead.HeturnsandclimbsthestepswithTatebesidehim.“Let’sgoinside,”hedecides.Atthefrontdoor,Willreachesintohispocketandpullsoutthehousekeys.Heknocksfirst,buthedoesn’twaittobeletin.AsWillunlocksthedoorandpushesitopen,Ottomovesawayfromme,leavingmebehind.Igo,too,onlybecauseIdon’twanttobeleftaloneoutside.
Insidewediscoverthatthehouseisold,withthingslikemahoganypaneling,heavydrapery,tinceilings,brown-and-forest-greenwalls.Itsmellsmusty.It’sdark,dreary.
Wecrowdtogetherintheentrywayandassessthehome,atraditionalfloorplanwiththeclosed-inrooms.Thefurnishingsareformalandunwelcoming.
Myattentiongetslostonthecurvedlegsofthediningroomtable.Onthetarnishedcandelabrathatsitsontopofit.Ontheyellowingchairpads.Ihardlyseeherstandingatthetopofthestairs.Wereitnotfortheslightestbitofmovementcaughtoutofthecornerofmyeye,Imightneverhaveseenher.Butthereshestands,amorosefiguredressedinblack.Blackjeans,ablackshirt,barefeet.Herhairisblack,longwithbangsthatslantsidewaysacrossherface.Hereyesareoutlinedinathickslashofblackeyeliner.Everythingblack,asidefromthewhiteletteringonhershirt,whichreads,Iwanttodie.Theseptumofhernoseispierced.Herskin,incontrasttoeverythingelse,iswhite,pallid,ghostlike.She’sthin.
Tateseesher,too.Atthis,hemovesfromWilltome,hidingbehindme,burrowinghisfaceintomybackside.It’snotlikeTatetobescared.It’snotlikemetobescared,andyetI’mwellawarethatthehairsonthenapeofmynecknowstandonend.
“Hello,”Isay,myvoiceweak.
Willnowseesher,too.Hiseyesgotoher;hesayshername.Hestartsclimbingthestepstoher,andtheycreakunderhisfeet,protestingourarrival.“Imogen,”hesayswitharmswide,expecting,Ithink,thatshe’llfoldherselfintothemandlethimholdher.Butshedoesn’tbecauseshe’ssixteenandstandingbeforeherisamanshehardlyknows.Ican’tfaultherforthis.Andyetthebrooding,melancholicgirlwasnotwhatI’dimaginedwhenwediscoveredweweregivenguardianshipofachild.
Hervoiceisacidicwhenshespeaks,quiet—shedoesn’teverraisehervoice;shedoesn’tneedto.Themutedtoneismuchmoreunsettlingthanifshescreamed.“Staythefuckawayfromme,”shesayscoolly.
Sheglowersdownoverthestairbanister.MyhandsinvoluntarilymovebehindmeandtoTate’sears.Willstopswhereheis.Helowershisarms.Willhasseenherbefore,justlastweekwhenhecameandmetwiththeexecutoroftheestate.Itwasthenthathesignedthepapersandtookphysicalpossessionofher,thougharrangementshadbeenmadeforhertostaywithafriendwhileWill,theboysandIdrovehere.
Thegirlasks,hervoiceangry,“Why’dyouhavetocome?”
Willtriestotellher—theansweriseasy,forwereitnotforus,she’dlikelyhaveenteredthefostercaresystemuntilsheturnedeighteen,unlessshewasgrantedemancipation,whichseemedunlikelyatherage—butananswerisnotwhatshewants.Sheturnsawayfromhim,disappearingintooneofthesecond-storyroomswherewehearherfutzingangrilywiththings.Willmakesamovetofollow,butIsaytohim,“Givehertime,”andhedoes.
ThisgirlisnotthesameasthelittlegirlWillhadshownusinthephotograph.Ahappy-go-luckyfreckledbrunetteofaboutsixyearsold.Thisgirlisdifferent,muchchanged.Theyearshavenotbeenkindtoher.Shecomeswiththehouse,justanotherthingthat’sbeenlefttousinthewill,mixedinwiththehouseandtheheirlooms,whatassetsremaininthebank.She’ssixteen,nearlyabletobeonherown—amootpointthatItriedarguing,forcertainlyshehadafriendorsomeotheracquaintancewhocouldtakeherinuntilsheturnedeighteen—butWillsaidno.WithAlicedead,wewereallthatremained,heronlyfamily,thoughsheandIweremeetingjustnowforthefirsttime.Sheneedstobewithfamily,Willtoldmeatthetime,daysagoonly,thoughitfeelslikeweeks.Afamilywhowillloveandcareforher.She’sallalone,Sadie.Mymaternalinstincthadkickedinthen,thinkingofthisorphanedchildallaloneintheworld,withnoonebutus.
Ihadn’twantedtocome.I’darguedthatsheshouldcometous.Buttherewassomuchmoretoconsider,andsowecameanyway,despitemyreservations.
Iwondernow,andnotforthefirsttimethisweek,whatkindofdisastrouseffectthischangewillhaveonourfamily.Itcan’tpossiblybethefreshstartWillsoauspiciouslybelievesittobe.
SADIE
SevenWeeksLater…
Thesirenwokeusatsomepointinthemiddleofthenight.Iheardthescreamofit.IsawthedazzlinglightsthatstreamedinthebedroomwindowasWillgrabbedhisglassesfromthebedsidetableandsatupabruptlyinbed,adjustingthemonthebridgeofhisnose.
“What’sthat?”heasked,holdinghisbreath,disorientedandconfused,andItoldhimitwasasiren.Wesathushedforaminute,listeningasthewaildriftedfartheraway,quietingdownbutnevergoingcompletelysilent.Wecouldhearitstill,stoppedsomewherejustdownthestreetfromourhome.
“Whatdoyouthinkhappened?”Willasked,andIthoughtonlyoftheelderlycoupleontheblock,themanwhopushedhiswifeinawheelchairupanddownthestreet,thoughhecouldbarelywalk.Theywerebothwhite-haired,wrinkled,hisbackcurvedlikethehunchbackofNotreDame.Healwayslookedtiredtome,likemaybeshewastheonewhoshouldbedoingthepushing.Itdidn’thelpthatourstreetwassteep,adeclinetotheoceanbelow.
“TheNilssons,”WillandIsaidatthesametime,andiftherewasalackofempathyinourvoicesit’sbecausethisiswhatisexpectedofolderpeople.Theygetinjured,sick;theydie.
“Whattimeisit?”IaskedWill,butbythenhe’dreturnedhisglassestothebedsidetableandsaidtome,“Idon’tknow,”ashepressedincloselyandfoldedanarmaroundmywaistline,andIfeltthesubconsciouspullofmybodyfromhis.
Wefellbackasleepthatway,forgettingaltogetheraboutthesirenthathadsnatchedusfromourdreams.
InthemorningIshowerandgetdressed,stilltiredfromafitfulnight.Theboysareinthekitchen,eatingbreakfast.IhearthecommotiondownstairsasIstepuneasilyfromthebedroom,astrangerinthehomebecauseofImogen.BecauseImogenhasawayofmakingusfeelunwelcome,evenafterallthistime.
Istarttomakemywaydownthehall.Imogen’sdoorisopenacrack.She’sinside,whichstrikesmeasoddbecauseherdoorisneveropenwhenshe’sinside.Shedoesn’tknowthatit’sopen,thatI’minthehallwaywatchingher.Herbackistomeandshe’sleanedintoamirror,tracingthelinesofblackeyelinerabovehereyes.
IpeerthroughthecreviceandintoImogen’sroom.Thewallsaredark,tackedwithimagesofartistsandbandswholookverymuchlikeher,withthelongblackhairandtheblackeyes,dressedinallblack.Ablackgauzythinghangsaboveherbed,acanopyofsorts.Thebedisunmade,adarkgraypintuckduvetlyingonthefloor.Theblackoutcurtainsarepulledtaut,keepingthelightout.Ithinkofvampires.
Imogenfinisheswiththeeyeliner.Shesnapsthecaponit,turnstoofastandseesmebeforeIhaveachancetoretreat.“Whatthefuckdoyouwant?”sheasks,theangerandthevulgarityofherquestiontakingmybreathaway,thoughIdon’tknowwhy.It’snotasifit’sthefirsttimeshe’sspokentomethisway.You’dthinkImightbeusedtoitbynow.ImogenscuttlessoquicklytothedoorthatatfirstIthinkshe’sgoingtohitme,whichshehasn’teverdone,butthespeedofhermovementandthelookonherfacemakemethinkshemight.Iinvoluntarilyflinch,movingbackward,andinstead,sheslamsthedoorshutonme.I’mgratefulforthis,forgettingthedoorslammedinmyfaceasopposedtogettinghit.Thedoormissesmynosebyaninch.
Myheartthumpsinsidemychest.Istandinthehallway,breathless.Iclearmyvoice,trytorecoverfromtheshockofit.Istepcloser,rapmyknucklesonthewoodandsay,“I’mleavingfortheferryinafewminutes.Ifyouwantaride,”knowingshewon’tacceptmyoffer.MyvoiceistumultuousinawaythatIdespise.Imogendoesn’tanswer.
Iturnandfollowthescentofbreakfastdownstairs.WillisbythestovewhenIcomedown.Hestands,flippingpancakesinanapron,whilesingingoneofthosesongsfromthejauntyCDsTatelikestolistento,somethingfartoomerryforsevenfifteeninthemorning.
Hestopswhenheseesme.“Youokay?”heasks.
“Fine,”Isay,voicestrained.
ThedogscircleWill’sfeet,hopinghe’lldropsomething.They’rebigdogsandthekitchenissmall.Thereisn’tenoughroomforfourofusinhere,letalonesix.Icalltothedogsand,whentheycome,sendthemintothebackyardtoplay.
WillsmilesatmewhenIreturnandoffersmeaplate.Ioptonlyforcoffee,tellingOttotohurryupandfinish.Hesitsatthekitchentable,hunchedoverhispancakes,shouldersslumpedforwardtomakehimselfappearsmall.Hislackofconfidenceworriesme,thoughItellmyselfthatthisisnormalforfourteen.Everychildgoesthroughthis,butIwonderiftheydo.
Imogenstompsthroughthekitchen.Therearetearsupthethighsandinthekneesofherblackjeans.Herbootsareblackleathercombatboots,withnearlyatwo-inchheel.Evenwithouttheboots,she’stallerthanme.Ravenskullsdanglefromherears.Hershirtreads,Normalpeoplesuck.Tate,atthetable,triestosounditout,ashedoesallofImogen’sgraphicT-shirts.He’sagoodreader,butshedoesn’tstandstilllongenoughforhimtogetalookatit.Imogenreachesforacabinetpull.Sheyanksopenthedoor,scanningtheinsideofthecabinetbeforeslammingitshut.
“Whatareyoulookingfor?”Willasks,alwayseagertoplease,butImogenfindsitthenintheformofaKitKatbar,whichshetearsopenandbitesinto.
“Imadebreakfast,”Willsays,butImogen,blueeyesdriftingpastOttoandTateatthekitchentable,seeingthethird,vacantplacesettingsetforher,saysonly,“Goodforyou.”
Sheturnsandleavestheroom.Wehearherbootsstompacrossthewoodenfloors.Wehearthefrontdooropenandclose,andonlythen,whenshe’sgone,canIbreathe.
Ihelpmyselftocoffee,fillingatravelmugbeforemakinganefforttostretchpastWillformythings:thekeysandabagthatsitonthecountertopjustoutofreach.HeleansintokissmebeforeIgo.Idon’tmeanto,andyetit’sinstinctivewhenIhesitate,whenIdrawbackfromhiskiss.
“Youokay?”Willasksagain,lookingatmecuriously,andIblameaboutofnauseaformyhesitation.It’snotentirelyuntrue.It’sbeenmonthsnowsincetheaffair,andyethishandsarestilllikesandpaperwhenhetouchesmeand,ashedoes,Ican’thelpbutwonderwherethosehandshavebeenbeforetheywereonme.
Afreshstart,he’dsaid,oneofthemanyreasonswefindourselvestransportedtothishomeinMaine,whichbelongedtoWill’sonlysister,Alice,beforeshedied.Alicehadsufferedforyearsfromfibromyalgiabeforethesymptomsgotthebestofherandshedecidedtoendherlife.Thepainoffibromyalgiaisdeep.It’sdiffusedthroughoutthebodyandoftenaccompaniedbyincapacitatingexhaustionandfatigue.FromwhatI’veheardandseen,thepainisintense—asometimesstabbing,sometimesthrobbingpain—worseinthemorningthanlaterintheday,butnevergoingcompletelyaway.It’sasilentdiseasebecausenoonecanseepain.Andyetit’sdebilitating.
TherewasonlyonethingAlicecoulddotocounterthepainandfatigue,andthatwastoheadintothehome’satticwitharopeandstepstool.Butnotbeforefirstmeetingwithalawyerandpreparingawill,leavingherhouseandeverythinginsideofittoWill.LeavingherchildtoWill.
Sixteen-year-oldImogenspendsherdaysdoingonlyGodknowswhat.School,presumably,forpartofitatleast,becauseweonlygettruancycallsonoccasion.ButhowshespendstherestofthedayIdon’tknow.WhenWillorIask,sheeitherignoresusorshehassomethingsmarttosay:thatshe’sofffightingcrime,promotingworldpeace,savingthefuckingwhales.Fuckisoneofherfavoritewords.Sheusesitoften.
SuicidecanleavesurvivorslikeImogenfeelingangryandresentful,rejected,abandoned,fullofrage.I’vetriedtobeunderstanding.It’sgettinghardtodo.
Growingup,WillandAlicewereclose,buttheygrewapartovertheyears.Hewasrattledbyherdeath,buthedidn’texactlygrieve.Intruth,Ithinkhefeltmoreguiltythananything:thathedidanegligentjobofkeepingintouch,thathewasn’tinvolvedinImogen’slifeandthathenevergraspedthegravityofAlice’sdisease.Hefeelsheletthemdown.
Atfirst,whenwe’dlearnedofourinheritance,IsuggestedtoWillthatwesellthehome,bringImogentoChicagotolivewithus,butafterwhathappenedinChicago—notjusttheaffairalone,butallofit,everything—itwasourchancetomakeanewbeginning,afreshstart.OrsoWillsaid.
We’vebeenherelessthantwomonths,sothatwe’restillgettingthelayoftheland,thoughwefoundjobsquickly,Willandme,heworkingasanadjunctprofessorteachinghumanecologytwodaysaweek,overonthemainland.
Asoneofonlytwophysiciansontheisland,theypracticallypaidmetocome.
IpressmylipstoWill’smouththistime,mytickettoleave.
“I’llseeyoutonight,”Isay,callingagaintoOttotohurryuporwe’llbelate.IgrabmythingsfromthecountertopandtellhimI’llbeinthecarwaiting.“Twominutes,”Isay,knowinghe’llstretchtwotofiveorsixashealwaysdoes.
IkisslittleTategoodbyebeforeIgo.Hestandsonhischair,wrapshisstickyarmsaroundmyneckandscreamsintoanear,“Iloveyou,Mommy,”andsomewhereinsideofmemyheartskipsabeatbecauseIknowthatatleastoneofthemstilllovesme.
MycarsitsonthedrivewaybesideWill’ssedan.Thoughwehaveagarageattachedtothehouse,it’soverrunwithboxesthatwehaveyettounpack.
ThecariscoldwhenIarrive,coveredinathinlayeroffrostthathassettledonthewindowsovernight.Iunlockthedoorwithmykeyfob.Theheadlightsblink;alightturnsoninside.
Ireachforthedoorhandle.ButbeforeIcangiveitatug,Icatchsightofsomethingonthewindowthatstopsme.Therearelinesstreakedthroughthefrostonthedriver’sside.They’vestartedtoliquefyinthewarmthofthemorning’ssunlight,softeningattheiredges.Butstill,they’rethere.Istepcloser.AsIdo,Iseethatthelinesarenotlinesatall,butletterstracedintothefrostonthewindow,comingtogethertoformasingleword:Die
Ahandshootstomymouth.Idon’thavetothinkhardtoknowwholeftthismessageformetofind.Imogendoesn’twantushere.Shewantsustoleave.
I’vetriedtobeunderstandingbecauseofhowawfulthesituationmustbeforher.Herlifehasbeenupended.Shelosthermotherandnowmustshareherhomewithpeopleshedoesn’tknow.Butthatdoesn’tjustifythreateningme.BecauseImogendoesn’tmincewords.Shemeansjustwhatshesaid.Shewantsmetodie.
ImakemywaybackuptheporchstepsandcallthroughthefrontdoorforWill.
“Whatisit?”heasks,makinghiswayfromthekitchen.“Didyouforgetsomething?”heasksashecockshisheadtotheside,takinginmykeys,mybag,mycoffee.Ididn’tforgetsomething.
“Youhavetoseethis,”Isay,whisperingnowsotheboysdon’thear.
Willfollowsmebarefootoutthefrontdoor,thoughtheconcreteisbitterlycold.ThreefeetfromthecarIpointatit,thewordinscribedinthefrostofthewindow.“Youseeit?”Iask,turningmyeyestoWill’s.Heseesit.Icantellasmuchinhisexpression,inthewayitturnsinstantlydistressed,mirroringmine.
“Shit,”hesaysbecausehe,likeme,knowswholeftthatthere.Herubsathisforehead,thinkingthisthrough.“I’lltalktoher,”hesays,andIaskdefensively,“Whatgoodwillthatdo?”
We’vetalkedtoImogenmanytimesoverthelastfewweeks.We’vediscussedthelanguagesheuses,especiallyaroundTate;theneedforacurfew;more.Thoughtalkingatwouldbeamorefittingtermthantalkingtobecauseitisn’taconversationwehave.It’salecture.ShestandswhileWillorIspeak.Shelistens,maybe.Sherarelyreplies.Shetakesnothingtoheartandthensheleaves.
Will’svoiceisquietwhenhespeaks.“Wedon’tknowforcertainthatsheleftthishere,”hesayssoftly,floatinganideabyme,oneI’drathernotconsider.“Isn’titpossible,”Willasks,“thatsomeoneleftthatmessageforOtto?”
“Youthinksomeoneleftadeaththreatonmywindowforourfourteen-year-oldchild?”Iask,incaseWillhassomehowmisconstruedthemeaningofthatwordDie
“It’spossible,isn’tit?”heasks,andthoughIknowthatitis,Itellhim,“No.”IsayitwithmoreconvictioninmyvoicethanIfeel,becauseIdon’twanttobelieveit.“Notagain,”Iinsist.“Weleftallthatbehindwhenwemoved.”
Butdidwe?Itisn’tentirelyoutsidetherealmofpossibilitythatsomeoneisbeingmeantoOtto.Thatsomeone’sbullyinghim.It’shappenedbefore.Itcanhappenagain.
IsaytoWill,“Maybeweshouldcallthepolice.”
ButWillshakeshishead.“Notuntilweknowwhodidthis.Ifit’sImogen,isthatreallyareasontoinvolvethepolice?She’sjustanangrygirl,Sadie.She’sgrieving,lashingout.She’dneverdoanythingtohurtanyofus.”
“Wouldn’tshe?”Iask,farlesssurethanWill.Imogenhasbecomeanotherpointofcontentioninourmarriage.SheandWillarerelatedbyblood;there’saconnectiontherethatIdon’thave.
WhenWilldoesn’treply,Igoon,arguing,“Nomatterwhotheintendedrecipient,Will,it’sstilladeaththreat.That’saveryseriousthing.”
“Iknow,Iknow,”hesays,glancingoverhisshouldertobesureOttoisn’tonhiswayout.Hespeaksquickly,says,“Butifwegetthepoliceinvolved,Sadie,itwilldrawattentiontoOtto.Unwantedattention.Thekidswilllookathimdifferently,iftheydon’talready.Hewon’tstandachance.Letmecalltheschoolfirst.Speaktohisteacher,theprincipal,makesureOttoisn’thavingtroublewithanyone.Iknowyou’reworried,”hesays,voicesofteningashereachesout,runsacomfortinghandalongmyarm.“I’mworried,too,”hesays.“Butcanwedothatfirst,”heasks,“beforecallingthepolice?AndcanIatleasthaveaconversationwithImogenbeforewejustassumethiswasher?”
ThisisWill.Alwaysthevoiceofreasoninourmarriage.
“Fine,”Itellhim,relenting,admittingthathemightberight.IhatetothinkofOttoasanoutcastinanewschool,ofhimbeingbulliedlikethis.
ButIalsocan’tstandtoconsidertheanimosityImogenhastowardus.Wehavetogettothebottomofthiswithoutmakingthingsworse.“Butifithappensagain,ifanythinglikethishappensagain,”Isay,pullingmyhandfrommybag,“wegotothepolice.”
“Deal,”Willagrees,andhekissesmeontheforehead.“We’llgetthistakencareof,”hesays,“beforeithasachancetogotoofar.”
“Doyoupromise?”Iask,wishingWillcouldsnaphisfingersandmakeeverythingbetter,justlikethat.
“Ipromise,”hesaysasIwatchhimskipbackupthestairsandinsidethehouse,disappearingbehindthedoor.Iscribblemyhandthroughtheletters.Iwipemyhandsonthethighsofmypantsbeforelettingmyselfintothecoldcar.Istarttheengineandblastthedefrost,watchingasittakesthelasttracesofthemessageaway,thoughit’llstaywithmeallday.
Theminutesonthecar’sdashpassby,twoandthenthree.Istareatthefrontdoor,waitingforittoopenbackup,forOttotoappearthistime,sloggingtothecarwithanunreadableexpressiononhisfacethatgivesnoindicationofwhat’sgoingoninsidehismind.Becausethat’stheonlyfacehemakesthesedays.
Theysaythatparentsshouldknowthesethings—whatourkidsarethinking—butwedon’t.Notalways.Wecanneverreallyknowwhatanyoneelseisthinking.
Andyetwhenchildrenmakepoorchoices,parentsarethefirsttobeblamed.
Howdidn’ttheyknow?criticsoftenask.Howdidtheyoverlookthewarningsigns?
Whyweren’ttheypayingattentiontowhattheirkidsweredoing?—whichisafavoriteofminebecauseitimpliesweweren’t.
ButIwas.
Before,Ottowasquietandintroverted.Helikedtodraw,cartoonsmostly,withafondnessforanime,thehipcharacterswiththeirwildhairandtheirlarger-than-lifeeyes.Henamedthem,theimagesinhissketchpad—andhadadreamtoonedaycreatehisowngraphicnovelbasedontheadventuresofAsaandKen.
Before,Ottohadonlyacoupleoffriends—exactlytwo—butthosethathehadcalledmema’am.Whentheycamefordinner,theybroughttheirdishestothekitchensink.Theylefttheirshoesbythefrontdoor.Otto’sfriendswerekind.Theywerepolite
Ottodidwellinschool.Hewasn’tastraightAstudent,butaveragewasgoodenoughforhimandWillandme.HisgradesfellintheB/Crange.Hedidhishomeworkandturneditinontime.Heneversleptthroughclass.Histeacherslikedhim,andonlyeverhadonecomplaint:they’dliketoseeOttoparticipatemore.
Ididn’toverlookthewarningsignsbecausetherewerenonetooverlook.
Istareatthehousenow,waitingforOttotocome.Afterfourminutes,myeyesgiveuponthefrontdoor.Astheydo,somethingoutthecarwindowcatchesmyeye.Mr.NilssonpushingMrs.Nilssoninherwheelchair,downthestreet.Theslopeissteep;ittakesgreatefforttohangontotherubberyhandlesofthewheelchair.Hewalksslowly,moreontheheelsofhisfeet,asiftheyarecarbrakesandhe’sridingthebrakesallthewaydownthestreet.
Notyetseventwentyinthemorning,andthey’rebothcompletelydoneup,himintwillslacksandasweater,herinsomesortofknitsetwhereeverythingisalightpink.Herhairiscurled,tightlywovenandsetwithspray,andIthinkofhim,scrupulouslywrappingeachlockofhairaroundarollerandsecuringthepin.Poppyishername,Ithink.HismightbeCharles.OrGeorge.
Rightbeforeourhome,Mr.Nilssonmakesadiagonalturn,goingtotheoppositesideofthestreetfromours.
Ashedoes,hiseyesremainontherearofmycarwheretheexhaustcomesoutinclouds.
Allatoncethesoundoflastnight’ssirenreturnstome,thewaningbellowofitasitpassedbyourhomeanddisappearedsomewheredownthestreet.
Adullpainformsinthepitofmystomach,butIdon’tknowwhy.
SADIE
Thedrivefromtheferrydocktothemedicalclinicisshort,onlyahandfulofblocks.IttakeslessthanfiveminutesfromthetimeIdropOttooffuntilIpulluptothehumble,low-slungbluebuildingthatwasonceahouse.
Fromthefront,itstillresemblesahouse,thoughthebackopensupfarwiderthananyhomeeverwould,attachingtoalow-costindependentlivingcenterforseniorcitizenswitheasyaccesstoourmedicalservices.Longagosomeonedonatedtheirhomefortheclinic.Yearslater,theindependentlivingcenterwasanaddition.
ThestateofMaineishometosomefourthousandislands.Ididn’tknowthisbeforewearrived.There’sadearthofdoctorsonthemoreruralofthem,suchasthisone.Manyoftheolderphysiciansareintheprocessofretiring,leavingvacanciesthatprovedifficulttofill.
Theisolationofislandlivingisn’tforeveryone,presentcompanyincluded.There’ssomethingunsettlinginknowingthatwhenthelastferryleavesforthenight,we’requiteliterallytrapped.Evenindaylight,theislandisrockyarounditsedges,overcomewithtallpinesthatmakeitsuffocatingandsmall.Whenwintercomes,asitsoonwill,theharshweatherwillshutmuchoftheislanddown,andthebayaroundusmayfreeze,trappingushere.
WillandIgotourhouseforfree.Wegotataxcreditformetoworkattheclinic.Isaidnototheidea,butWillsaidyes,thoughitwasn’tthemoneyweneeded.Mybackgroundisinemergencymedicine.I’mnotboard-certifiedingeneralpractice,thoughIhaveatemporarylicensewhileIgothroughtheprocessofbecomingfullylicensedinMaine
Inside,thebluebuildingnolongerresemblesahouse.Wallshavebeenputupandknockeddowntocreateareceptiondesk,examrooms,alobby.There’sasmelltothebuilding,somethingheavyanddamp.ItclingstomeevenafterIleave.Willsmellsit,too.Itdoesn’thelpthatEmma,thereceptionist,isasmoker,consumingaboutapackadayofcigarettes.Thoughshesmokesoutside,shehangshercoatonthesamerackasmine.Thesmellrovesfromcoattocoat.
WilllookscuriouslyatmesomenightsafterI’vecomehome.Heasks,Haveyoubeensmoking?Imightaswellbeforthesmellofnicotineandtobaccothatfollowsmehome.
Ofcoursenot,I’vetoldhim.YouknowIdon’tsmoke,andthenItellhimaboutEmma.
Leaveyourcoatout.I’llwashit,Willhastoldmecountlesstimes.Idoandhewashesit,butitmakesnodifferencebecausethenextdayithappensalloveragain.
TodayIstepintotheclinictofindJoyce,theheadnurse,andEmmawaitingforme.
“You’relate,”Joycesays,butifIam,I’monlyaminutelate.Joycemustbesixty-fiveyearsold,closetoretirement,andabitofashrew.She’sbeenherefarlongerthaneitherEmmaorme,whichmakeshertopdogattheclinic,inhermindatleast.“Didn’ttheyteachyoupunctualitywhereyoucamefrom?”sheasks.
I’vefoundthatthemindsofthepeopleareassmallastheislanditself.
Isteppastherandstartmyday.
Hourslater,I’mwithapatientwhenIseeWill’sfacesurfaceonmycellphone,fivefeetaway.It’ssilenced.Ican’thearthephone’sring,thoughWill’snameappearsabovethepictureofhim:theattractive,chiseledface,thebrighthazeleyes.He’shandsome,inatake-your-breath-awayway,andIthinkthatit’stheeyes.Ormaybethefactthatatforty,hecouldstillpassfortwenty-five.Willwearshisdarkhairlong,sweptbackintoalowbunthat’sgrowinginpopularitythesedays,givingoffanintellectual,hipstervibethathisstudentsseemtolike.
IignoretheimageofWillonmyphoneandattendtomypatient,aforty-three-year-oldwomanpresentingwithafever,chestpain,acough.Undoubtedlybronchitis.Butstill,Ipressmystethoscopetoherlungsforalisten.
Ipracticedemergencymedicineforyearsbeforecominghere.There,atastate-of-the-artteachinghospitalintheheartofChicago,IwentintoeachshiftwithoutanyideaofwhatImightsee,everypatientcominginindistress.Thevictimsofmultiple-vehiclecollisions,womenhemorrhagingexcessivelyfollowingahomebirth,three-hundred-poundmeninthemidstofapsychoticbreak.Itwastenseanddramatic.There,inaconstantstateofhighalert,Ifeltalive.
Here,itisdifferent.Here,everydayIknowwhatIwillsee,thesamerotationofbronchitis,diarrheaandwarts.
WhenIfinallygetthechancetocallWillback,there’sahitchtohisvoice.“Sadie,”hesays,and,fromthewaythathesaysit,Iknowthatsomethingiswrong.Hestopsthere,mymindengineeringscenariostomakeupforthatwhichhedoesn’tsay.ItsettlesonOttoandthewayIlefthimattheferryterminalthismorning.Igothimtherejustintime,aminuteortwobeforetheferrywouldleave.Isaidgoodbye,mycaridlingahundredfeetfromthewaitingboat,watchingasOttomopedoffforanotherdayofschool.
ItwasthenthatmyeyescaughtsightofImogen,standingattheedgeofthepierwithherfriends.Imogenisabeautifulgirl.There’snorebuttingthat.Herskinisnaturallyfair;shedoesn’tneedtocoveritintalcumpowder,asherfriendsmustdo,tomakeherselflookwhite.Thepiercingthroughhernosehastakensomegettingusedto.Hereyes,incontrasttotheskin,areanicyblue,herformerbrunetteshowingthroughtheunkempteyebrows.Imogeneschewsthedark,boldlipsticktheothergirlslikeherwear,butinsteadwearsatastefulrosybeige.It’sactuallyquitelovely.
Ottohasneverlivedinsuchcloseproximitytoagirlbefore.Hiscuriosityhasgottenthebetterofhim.Thetwoofthemdon’ttalkmuch,nomorethanImogenandIspeak.Shewon’tridewithustotheferrydock;shedoesn’tspeaktohimatschool.AsfarasIknow,shedoesn’tacknowledgehimonthecommutethere.Theirinteractionsarebrief.Ottoatthekitchentableworkingonmathhomeworklastnight,forexample,andImogenpassingthrough,seeinghisbinder,notingtheteacher’snameonthefrontofit,commenting:Mr.Jansenisafuckingdouche.
Ottohadjuststaredbackwide-eyedinreply.Thewordfuckisnotyetinhisrepertoire.ButIimagineit’sonlyamatteroftime.
Thismorning,Imogenandherfriendswerestandingattheedgeofthepier,smokingcigarettes.Thesmokeencircledtheirheads,loitering,whiteinthefrostyair.IwatchedasImogenbroughtacigarettetohermouth,inhaleddeeplywiththeexpertiseofsomeonewho’ddonethisbefore,whoknewwhatshewasdoing.Shehelditinandthenexhaledslowlyand,asshedid,Iwascertainhereyescametome.
Didsheseemesittingthereinmycar,watchingher?
Orwasshejuststaringvacantlyintospace?
I’dbeensobusywatchingImogenthat,nowthatIthinkbackonit,IneversawOttoboardtheferry.Ionlyassumedhewould.
“It’sOtto,”Isayaloudnow,atthesametimethatWillsays,“Itwasn’ttheNilssons,”andatfirstIdon’tknowwhathemeansbythat.WhatdoesOttohavetodowiththeelderlycouplewholivesdownthestreet?
“WhatabouttheNilssons?”Iask,butmymindhastroublegoingthere,because—atthesuddenrealizationthatIdidn’tseeOttoboardtheferry—allIcanthinkaboutisOttointhesingleseatacrossfromtheprincipal’sofficewithhandcuffsonhiswrists,apoliceofficerstandingthreefeetaway,watchinghim.Onthecorneroftheprincipal’sdesk,anevidencebag,thoughwhatwasinside,Icouldn’tyetsee.
Mr.andMrs.Foust,theprincipalhadsaidtousthatdayand,forthefirsttimeinmylife,Iattemptedsomeclout.Doctor,Isaidtohim,facedeadpanasWillandIstoodbehindOtto,WilldroppingahandtoOtto’sshouldertolethimknowthatwhateverhe’ddone,wewerethereforhim.
Iwasn’tsureifitwasmyimagination,butIwasquitecertainIsawthepoliceofficersmirk.
“Thesirenlastnight,”Willexplainsnowoverthephone,bringingmebacktothepresent.Thatwasbefore,Iremindmyself,andthisisnow.WhathappenedtoOttoinChicagoisinthepast.Overanddonewith.“Itwasn’ttheNilssonsafterall.TheNilssonsareperfectlyfine.ItwasMorgan.”
“MorganBaines?”Iask,thoughI’mnotsurewhy.Thereisn’tanotherMorganonourblock,asfarasIknow.MorganBainesisaneighbor,oneI’veneverspokentobutWillhas.Sheandherfamilylivejustupthestreetfromusinafoursquarefarmhousenotunlikeourown,Morgan,herhusbandandtheirlittlegirl.Becausetheylivedatthetopofthehill,WillandIoftenspeculatedthattheirviewsoftheseaweresplendid,threehundredsixtydegreesofourlittleislandandtheoceanthatwallsusin.
AndthenonedayWillslippedandtoldmetheywere.Theviews.Splendid.
Itriednottofeelinsecure.ItoldmyselfthatWillwouldn’thaveadmittedtobeinginsideherhomeiftherewassomethinggoingonbetweenthem.ButWillhasapastwithwomen;hehasahistory.AyearagoIwouldhavesaidWillwouldnevercheatonme.ButIcouldn’tputanythingpasthimnow.
“Yes,Sadie,”Willsays.“MorganBaines,”andonlythendoImakeoutherface,thoughI’venotseenherupclosebefore.Onlyfromadistance.Longhair,thecolorofmilkchocolate,andbangs,thetypethathangtoolong,thatspendtheirtimewedgedbehindanear.
“Whathappened?”IaskasIfindaplacetosit,and,“Iseverythingallright?”IwonderifMorganisdiabetic,ifshe’sasthmatic,ifshehasanautoimmuneconditionthatwouldtriggeramiddle-of-the-nightvisittotheemergencyroom.Thereareonlytwophysicianshere,myselfandmycolleague,Dr.Sanders.Lastnightshewasoncall,notme.
TherearenoEMTsontheisland,onlypoliceofficerswhoknowhowtodriveanambulanceandareminimallytrainedinlifesavingmeasures.Therearenohospitalsaswell,andsoarescueboatwouldhavebeencalledinfromthemainlandtomeettheambulancedownbythedocktocartMorganawayfortreatment,whileanotherwaitedonshoreforthethirdlegofhercommute.
Ithinkoftheamountoftimethatwouldhavetakeninsum.WhatI’veheardisthatthesystemworkslikeawell-oiledmachineandyetit’snearlythreemilestothemainland.Thoserescueboatscanonlygosofastandaredependentonthecooperationofthesea.
Butthisiscatastrophicthinkingonly,mymindruminatingonworst-casescenarios.
“Issheallright,Will?”Iaskagainbecauseinallthistime,Willhassaidnothing.
“No,Sadie,”hesays,asifIshouldsomehowknowthateverythingisnotallright.There’sapointednessabouthisreply.Abrevity,andthenhesaysnomore.
“Well,whathappened?”Iurge,andhetakesadeepbreathandtellsme.
“She’sdead,”hesays.
Andifmyresponseisapathetic,it’sonlybecausedeathanddyingareapartofmyeverydayroutine.I’veseeneveryunspeakablethingthereistosee,andIdidn’tknowMorganBainesatall.We’dhadnointeractionasidefromaonetimewaveoutmywindowasIdroveslowlybyherhomeandshestoodthere,thrustingthebangsbehindanearbeforereturningthegesture.I’dthoughtaboutitlongafter,overanalyzingasIhaveatendencytodo.Iwonderedaboutthatlookonherface.Ifitwasmeantformeorifshewasscowlingatsomethingelse.
“Dead?”Iasknow.“Deadhow?”AndasWillbeginstocryontheotherendoftheline,hesays,“Shewasmurdered,theysay.”
“They?Who’sthey?”Iask.
“Thepeople,Sadie,”hesays.“Everyone.It’sallanyone’stalkingaboutintown,”andasIopenthedoortotheexamroomandstepintothehall,Ifindthatit’strue.Thatpatientsinthewaitingroomareinthethickofaconversationaboutthemurder,andtheylookatmewithtearsintheireyesandaskifIheardthenews.
“Amurder!Onourisland!”someonegasps.Ahushfallsovertheroomand,asthedooropensandamanstepsin,anolderwomanscreams.It’sapatientonly,andyetwithnewslikethis,it’shardnottothinktheworstofeveryone.It’shardnottogiveintofear.
CAMILLE
I’mnotgoingtotellyoueverything.JustthethingsIthinkyoushouldknow.
Imethimonthestreet.Thecornerofsomecitystreet,whereitcrossesbeneaththe“L”tracks.Itwasgritty,grungythere.Thebuildings,thetracksdidn’tletthelightin.Parkedcars,steelgirders,orangeconstructionconesfilledtheroad.Thepeople,theywereordinaryChicagopeople.Justyoureverydayeclecticmixofhipstersandsteampunk,hobos,trixies,thesocialelite.
Iwaswalking.Ididn’tknowwhereIwasgoing.Allaround,thecitybuzzed.Air-conditioningunitsdrippedfromupabove;abumbeggedforcash.Astreetpreacherstoodonthecurb,foamingatthemouth,tellinguswe’reallhell-bound.
Ipassedaguyonthestreet.Iwasgoingtheotherway.Ididn’tknowwhohewas,butIknewhistype.Thekindofrichformerprepschoolkidwhoneverfraternizedwiththetrashypublicschoolkidslikeme.Nowhewasallgrownup,workingintheFinancialDistrict,shoppingatWholeFoods.He’swhatyou’dcallachad,thoughhisnamewasprobablysomethingelselikeLuke,Miles,Brad.Somethingsmug,uptight,overused.Mundane.Hegavemeanodandasmile,onethatsaidwomeneasilyfellforhischarms.Butnotme.
Iturnedaway,keptwalking,didn’tgivehimthesatisfactionofsmilingback.
Ifelthiseyesfollowmefrombehind.
Ispiedmyreflectioninastorefrontwindow.Myhair,long,straight,withbangs.Rust-colored,stretchinghalfwaydownmyback,overtheshouldersofanarctic-blueteethatmatchedmyeyes.
Isawwhatthatchadwaslookingat.
Iranahandthroughmyhair.Ididn’tlookhalfbad.
Overhead,the“L”thunderedpast.Itwasloud.Butnotloudenoughtotuneoutthestreetpreacher.Adulterers,whores,blasphemers,gluttons.Wewerealldoomed.
Thedaywashot.Notjustsummerbutthedogdaysofit.Eightyorninetydegreesout.Everythingsmelledrancid,likesewage.ThesmellofgarbagegaggedmeasIpassedanalley.Thehotairtrappedthesmellsotherewasnoescapingit,justastherewasnoescapingtheheat.
Iwaslookingup,watchingthe“L,”gettingmybearings.Iwonderedwhattimeitwas.Ikneweveryclockinthecity.ThePeacockclock,FatherTime,MarshallField’s.FourclocksontheWrigleyBuilding,sothatitdidn’tmatterwhichwayyoucameatitfrom,youcouldstillseeaclock.Buttherewerenoclocksthere,onthecornerwhereIwasat
Ididn’tseethestoplightbeforemegored.Ididn’tseethecabcomehustlingpast,racinganothercabtosnatchupafaredownthestreet.Isteppedrightintothestreetwithbothfeet.
Ifelthimfirst.IfeltthegripofhishandtightenonmywristlikeapipewrenchsothatIcouldn’tmove.
Inaninstant,Ifellinlovewiththathand—warm,capable,decisive.Protective.Hisfingerswerethick;hishandsbigwithclean,shortnails.Therewasatinytattoo,aglyphontheskinbetweenhisfingersandthumb.Somethingsmallandpointy,likeamountainpeak.Foraminute,thatwasallIsaw.Thatinkymountainpeak.
Hisgripwaspowerfulandswift.Inonestroke,hestoppedme.Asecondlater,thecabracedpast,notsixinchesfrommyfeet.Ifelttherushofitonmyface.Thewindoffthecarpushedmeaway,andthensuckedmebackinasitpassed.Isawaflashofcolorsonly;Ifeltthebreeze.Ididn’tseethecabshootpast,notuntilitwasspeedingoffdownthestreet.OnlythendidIknowhowcloseIcametobeingroadkill.
Overhead,the“L”screechedtoastoponthetracks.
Ilookeddown.Therewashishand.Myeyeswentuphiswrist,hisarm;theywenttohiseyes.Hiseyeswerewide,hiseyebrowspulledtogetherinconcern.Hewasworriedaboutme.Nooneeverworriedaboutme.
Thelightturnedgreen,butwedidn’tmove.Wedidn’tspeak.Allaround,peoplesteppedpastuswhilewestoodintheway,blockingthem.Aminutewentby.Two.Still,hedidn’tletgoofmywrist.Hishandwaswarm,tacky.Itwashumidoutside.Sohotitwashardtobreathe.Therewasnofreshair.Mythighsweremoistwithsweat.Theystucktomyjeans,madethearctic-blueteeclingtome.
Whenwefinallyspoke,wespokeatthesametime.Thatwasclose.
Welaughedtogether,releasedasynchronoussigh.
Icouldfeelmyheartpoundinsideofme.Ithadnothingtodowiththecab.
Iboughthimcoffee.Itsoundssounimaginativeafterthefact,doesn’tit?Socliché.
ButthatwasallIcouldcomeupwithinapinch.
Letmebuyyouacoffee,Isaid.Repayyouforsavingmylife.
IflutteredmyeyelashesathimPutahandonhischest.Gavehimasmile.
OnlythendidIseethathealreadyhadacoffee.Thereinhisotherhandsatsomeicedfroufroudrink.Oureyeswenttoitatthesametime.Wesniggered.Helobbeditintoatrashcan,said,Pretendyoudidn’tjustseethat.
Acoffeewouldbenice,hesaid.Whenhesmiled,hesmiledwithhiseyes.
HetoldmehisnamewasWill.Therewasastutterwhenhesaidit,sothatitcameoutWi-Will.Hewasnervous,shyaroundgirls,shyaroundme.Ilikedthatabouthim.
Itookhishandintomine,said,It’snicetomeetyou,Wi-Will.
Wesatinabooth,sidebyside.Wedrankourcoffees.Wetalked;welaughed.
Thatnighttherewasaparty,oneofthoserooftopvenueswithacityview.AnengagementpartyforSadie’sfriends,JackandEmily.Shewastheonewhowasinvited,notme.Idon’tthinkEmilylikedmemuch,butIplannedtogoanyway,justthesameasCinderellawenttotheroyalball.Ihadadresspickedout,oneItookfromSadie’scloset.ItfitmetoaT,thoughshewasbiggerthanme,Sadiewithherbroadshouldersandherthickhips.Shehadnobusinesswearingthatdress.Iwasdoingherafavor.
IhadabadhabitofshoppinginSadie’scloset.Once,whenIwasthere,allaloneorsoIthought,Iheardthejiggleofkeysinthefrontdoorlock.Islippedoutoftheroom,intothelivingroom,arrivingonlyasecondbeforeshedid.Therestoodmydarlingroommate,handsonherhips,lookingquizzicallyatme.
Youlooklikeyou’vebeenuptonogood,shesaid.Ididn’tsayonewayortheotherwhetherI’dbeenbeinggood.Itwasn’toftenthatIwasgood.Sadiewastherulefollower,notme.
Thatdresswasn’ttheonlythingItookfromher.Ialsousedhercreditcardtobuynewshoes,metallicwedgesandalswithacrisscrossstrap.
IsaidtoWillthatdayinthecoffeeshopabouttheengagementparty:Wedon’tevenknoweachother.ButI’dbeanidiotnottoask.Comewithme?
I’dbehonored,hesaid,makingeyesatmeinthecafébooth.Hesatclose,hiselbowbrushingagainstmine.
He’dcometotheparty.
Igavehimtheaddress,toldhimI’dmeethiminside.
Wepartedwaysbeneaththe“L”tracks.Iwatchedhimwalkawayuntilhegotswallowedupinpedestriantraffic.Eventhen,Istillwatched.
Icouldn’twaittoseehimthatnight.
Butasluckwouldhaveit,Ididn’tmakeittothepartyafterall.Fatehadotherplansthatnight.
ButSadiewasthere.Sadie,whohadbeeninvitedtoJackandEmily’sengagementparty.Shewasoutofthisworld.Hewentrightuptoher,fawnedalloverher,forgotaboutme.
I’dmadeiteasyonher,invitinghimtothatparty.IalwaysmadethingseasyforSadie.
Ifitwasn’tforme,theyneverwould’vemet.Hewasminebeforehewashers.
Sheforgetsthatallthetime.
SADIE
Thereisn’tmuchtoourstreet,justlikeanyoftheotherinlandstreetsthatliebraidedthroughouttheisland.There’snothingmorethanahandfulofshingledcottagesandfarmhousesbisectedbypatchesoftrees.
Theislanditselfishometolessthanathousand.Weliveonthemorepopulouspart,inwalkingdistanceoftheferry,wherethere’sapartialviewofthemainlandfromoursteeplyslopedstreet,thesizeofitshrunkenbydistance.Andyetthesightofitbringscomforttome.
ThereisaworldouttherethatIcansee,evenifI’mnolongerapartofit.
Idriveslowlyuptheincline.Theevergreenshavelosttheirneedlesnow,thebirchtreestheirleaves.They’restrewnaboutthestreet,crunchingbeneaththecar’stiresasIdrive.Soontheywillbeburiedbysnow.
Saltyseaairentersthewindow,openjustacrack.There’sachilltotheair,thelastlingeringtracesoffallbeforewinterarrivesfullbore.
It’saftersixo’clockintheevening.Theskyisdark.
Upaboveme,acrossthestreetandtwodoorsdownfrommyownhome,thereisaflurryofactivitygoingonattheBaineses’home.Threeunmarkedcarsareparkedoutside,andIimagineforensictechniciansinside,collectingevidence,fingerprinting,photographingthecrimescene.
Thestreetlookssuddenlydifferenttome.
ThereisapolicecarinmyowndrivewayasIpullup.Iparkbesideit,aFordCrownVictoria,andclimbslowlyout.Ireachintothebackseattogathermythings.Imakemywaytothefrontdoor,lookingwarilyaroundtobesurethatI’malone.There’sthegreatestsenseofunease.It’shardnottoletmyimaginationgetthebestofme,toimagineakillerhidingamongthebusheswatchingme
Butthestreetissilent.TherearenopeoplearoundthatIcansee.Myneighborshavegoneinside,mistakenlybelievingthey’resaferinsidetheirownhomes—whichMorganBainesmusthavethought,too,beforeshewaskilledinhers.
Ipressmykeysintothefrontdoor.WillleapstohisfeetwhenIenter.Hisjeansareslouchy,baggyintheknees,hisshirtpartlytucked.Hislonghairhangsloose.
“There’sanofficerhere,”hesaysbriskly,thoughIseethisformyself,theofficersittingthereonthearmofthesofa.“He’sinvestigatingthemurder,”Willsays,practicallychokingonthatword.Murder.
Will’seyesarewearyandred;he’sbeencrying.Hereachesintoapocketandpullsoutatissue.Hedabshiseyeswithit.Willisthemorethin-skinnedofus,themoresensitive.Willcriesatmovies.Hecrieswhenwatchingtheeveningnews.
HecriedwhenIfoundouthe’dbeensleepingwithanotherwoman,thoughhetriedinvaintodenyit.
Thereisnootherwoman,Sadie,hesaidashefelltohiskneesallthosemonthsagobeforemeandcriedhiseyesout,pleadinghisinnocence.
TohispointIneversawthewomanherself,butthesignsofherwereeverywhere
Iblamedmyselfforit.Ishouldhaveseenitcoming.Afterall,IwasneverWill’sfirstchoiceforawife.We’vebeentryinghardtogetpastit.Forgiveandforget,theysay,butit’seasiersaidthandone.
“Hehassomequestionsforus,”Willsaysnow,andIask,“Questions?”lookingtowardtheofficer,amaninhisfiftiesorsixtieswithrecedinghairandpittedskin.Asmalltractofhairgrowsabovetheupperlip,awould-bemustache,brownishgraylikethehaironhishead.
“Dr.Foust,”hesays,meetingmyeye.HeextendsahandandtellsmehisnameisBerg.OfficerBerg,andIsaythatIamSadieFoust.
OfficerBerglookstroubled,abitshell-shockedeven.Igatherthathistypicalcallsarecomplaintsofdogsleavingtheirfecesinneighbors’yards;doorsleftunlockedattheAmericanLegion;theever-popular911hang-upcalls.Notthis.Notmurder.
Thereareonlyahandfulofpatrolmenontheisland,OfficerBergbeingoneofthem.Oftentimestheymeettheferrydownbythedocktobesureeveryoneboardsanddepartswithoutanyproblems,notthatthereeverare.Notthistimeofyearanyway,thoughI’veheardofthechangewe’llseecomesummer,whentouristsabound.Butfornow,it’speacefulandquiet.Theonlypeopleontheboatarethedailycommuterswhopaddleacrossthebayforschoolandwork.
“Whatkindofquestions?”Iask.Ottositsslouchedinachairinthecorneroftheroom.Hefidgetswiththefringeofathrowpillow,andIwatchasstrandsofbluecomelooseinhishands.Hiseyeslookweary.Iworryaboutthestressthisiscausinghim,havingtohearfromapoliceofficerthataneighborwasmurdered.Iwonderifhe’sscaredbecauseofit.IknowIam.Theveryideaisunfathomable.Amurdersoclosetoourownhome.IshuddertothinkaboutwhatwentonintheBaineses’homelastnight.
Iglancearoundthefirstfloor,lookingforImogen,forTate.AsifheknowswhatI’mthinking,Willsaystome,“Imogenisn’thomefromschoolyet,”andOfficerBerg,takinginterestinthis,asks,“No?”
Schoolendsattwothirty.Thecommuteislong,butstill,Ottoishomemostdaysbythreethirtyorfour.Theclockonthefireplacemantelreadstenaftersix
“No,”Willtellstheofficer,“butshe’llbehomesoon.Anyminute,”hesays,citingsometutoringsessionthatWillandIknowshedidn’thave.Theofficertellsusthathe’llneedtospeakwithImogen,too,andWillsays,“Ofcourse.”Ifsheisn’thomesoon,heofferstodrivehertothepublicsafetybuildingtonight.It’sacatchallbuilding,whereacoupleofpoliceofficersdoubleasEMTsandfirstrespondersinthecaseoffire.Ifourhomewentupinflames,OfficerBergwouldjustaslikelyappearatmydoorinafiretruck.IfWillorIhadaheartattack,he’dcomeintheambulance.
Onlyseven-year-oldTatehasbeensparedfromthepoliceofficer’sinterrogation.“Tateisoutside,”Willtellsme,seeingthewaymyeyeslookforhim.“He’splayingwiththedogs,”hesays,andIhearthemthen,thedogsbarking.
IgiveWillalook,onethatwondershowsmartitistoleaveTatealoneoutsidewhentherewasamurdereronourstreetjustlastnight.Istraytowardarear-facingwindowtofindTate,inasweatshirtandjeans,awoolhatthrustdownoverhishead.He’shavingagowiththedogsandaball.Helobstheballasfarashecan—laughingashedoesso—andthegirlsdashafterit,arguingoverwhichwillbetheonetocarryitbacktoTate’swaitinghand.
Outside,there’sevidenceofafireinthebackyardfirepit.Thefireisdyingdownnow,onlyembersandsmoke.There’snolongeraflame.
It’sfarenoughawayfromTateandthedogsthatIdon’tworry.
OfficerBergseesthesmolderingfire,too,andasksifwehaveapermitforit.
“Apermit?”Willasks.“Forthefire?”WhenOfficerBergsaysyes,WillgoesontoexplainthatoursonTatehadcomehomefromschoolbeggingfors’mores.They’dreadabookaboutthem,SisforS’mores,andtherestoftheday,Tatehadacravingforthem.
“Theonlywaywedids’moresbackinChicagowasinthetoasteroven.Thiswasjustaquicktreat,”Willsays.“Completelyharmless.”
“Aroundhere,”OfficerBergtellshim,uninterestedinTate’scraving,“youneedapermitforanyopenfire.”
Willapologizes,blamesignorance,andtheofficershrugs.“Nexttimeyou’llknow,”hesays,forgivingusthisonetransgression.Therearebiggerissuesathand.
“CanIbeexcused?”Ottoasks,sayinghehashomeworktodo,andIseethisdiscomfortinhiseyes.Thisisalotforafourteen-year-oldboytohandle.ThoughmucholderthanTate,Ottoisstillachild.Weforgetthatsometimes.Ipathimontheshoulder.Ileaninclosetohimandsay,“We’resafehere,Otto.Iwantyoutoknowthat,”becauseIdon’twanthimtobescared.“YourdadandIareheretoprotectyou,”Itellhim.
Ottomeetsmyeyes.IwonderifhebelievesmewhenI’mnotsosuremyself.Arewesafehere?
“Youcango,”theofficertellshimand,asheleaves,Ifindmywaytotheotherarmofthesofa,OfficerBergandIbisectedbyavelvetsofathecolorofmarigolds,thefurnitureleftbehindinthehomeallmidcentury,andnot,unfortunately,midcenturymodern.It’sjustold.
“YouknowwhyI’mhere?”theofficerasks,andItellhimthatWillandIheardthesirenlatelastnight.ThatIknowMrs.Baineswasmurdered.
“Yes,ma’am,”hesays,andIaskhowshewasmurdered,thoughthedetailsofherdeathhavenotyetbeenreleased.They’rewaiting,hesays,untilthefamilyhasbeennotified.
“Mr.Bainesdoesn’tknow?”Iask,butallhe’llsayisthatMr.Baineswastravelingforbusiness.Thefirstthoughtthatcrossesmymindisthat,incaseslikethis,it’salwaysthehusband.Mr.Baines,whereverheis,hasdonethis,Ithink.
BergtellsushowthelittleBainesgirlwastheonewhofoundMrs.Bainesdead.Shecalled911andtoldtheoperatorthatMorganwouldn’twakeup.Isharplyinhale,tryingnottoimagineallthethingsthatpoorlittlegirlmighthaveseen.
“Howoldisshe?”Iask,andBergreplies,“Sixyearsold.”
Ahandrisestomymouth.“Oh,howawful,”Isay,andIcan’timagineit,TatefindingeitherWillormedead.
“SheandTateareinschooltogether,”Willdeclares,lookingatOfficerBergandthenme.Theysharethesameteacher.Theysharethesamepeers.Theislandschoolserveschildreningradeskindergartenthroughfifthwhiletherest,thoseinmiddleschoolandbeyond,havetobeferriedtothemainlandfortheireducation.Onlyfifty-somestudentsgototheelementaryschool.NineteeninTate’sclassroombecausehisfirstgradeiscombinedwiththekindergartenclass.
“Whereisthelittlegirlnow?”Iask,andhetellsmethatshe’swithfamilywhiletheytrytoconnectwithJeffrey,travelingforbusinessinTokyo.Thefactthathewasoutofthecountrydoesn’tmakeJeffreyBainesanylessculpableinmymind.Hecouldhavehiredsomeonetocarryoutthetask.
“Thepoorthing,”Isay,imaginingyears’worthoftherapyinthechild’sfuture.
“Whatcanwedotohelp?”IaskOfficerBerg,andhetellsmehe’sbeenspeakingtoresidentsalongthestreet,askingthemquestions.“Whatkindofquestions?”Iask.
“Canyoutellme,Dr.Foust,whereyouwerelastnightaroundeleveno’clock?”theofficerasks.Inotherwords,doIhaveanalibiforthetimethehomicideoccurred?
LastnightWillandIwatchedTVtogether,afterwe’dputTatetobed.We’dlainondifferentsidesoftheroom,himspreadoutonthesofa,mecurledupontheloveseataswedo.Ourallocatedseats.Shortlyafterwe’dgottensituatedandturnedontheTV,WillbroughtmeaglassofcabernetfromthebottleI’dopenedthenightbefore.
Iwatchedhimforawhilefrommyownseat,rememberingthatitwasn’tsolongagothatIwouldhavefounditimpossibletositthisfarawayfromWill,onseparatesofas.Ithoughtfondlyofthedaysthathewouldhavehandedmethewinewithalengthykisstothelips,anotherhandfeelingmeupashedidso,andIwouldhavefoundmyselfeasilywiledbythepersuasivekissandthepersuasivehandsandthoseeyes.Thoseeyes!Andthenonethingwouldhaveledtothenextand,soonafter,wewouldhavegiggledliketeenagersaswetriedtohastilyandnoiselesslymakeloveonthesofa,earstunedintothecreaksofthefloorboardsaboveus,theraspofboxsprings,footstepsonthestairs,tobesuretheboysstillslept.TherewasamagnanimityaboutWill’stouch,somethingthatoncemademefeelgiddyandlight-headed,drunkwithoutadroptodrink.Icouldn’tgetenoughofhim.Hewasintoxicating.
ButthenIfoundthecigarette,aMarlboroSilverwithlipstickthecolorofstrawberriesalongitsfilter.Ifoundthatfirst,followedshortlyafterbychargesforhotelroomsonourcreditcardstatement,apairofpantiesinourbedroomthatIknewweren’tmine.IrealizedatoncethatWillwasmagnanimousandintoxicatingtosomeoneotherthanme.
Ididn’tsmoke.Ididn’twearlipstick.AndIwasfartoosensibletoleavemyunderwearlyingaroundsomeoneelse’shome.
WilljustlookedatmewhenIshovedthecreditcardstatementunderhisnose,whenIaskedhimoutrightaboutthehotelchargesonourbill.Heappearedsotakenabackthathe’dbeencaughtthathedidn’thavethewherewithaltomanufacturealie.
Lastnight,afterI’dfinishedthatfirstglassofwine,WillofferedtotopmeoffandIsaidyes,likingthewaythewinemademefeelweightlessandcalm.ThenextthingIrememberwasthesirenrousingmefromsleep.
Imusthavefallenasleepontheloveseat.Willmusthavehelpedmetobed.
“Dr.Foust?”theofficerasks.
“WillandIwerehere,”Itellhim.“WatchingTV.TheeveningnewsandthenTheLateShow.TheonewithStephenColbert,”IsayasOfficerBergtranscribesmywordsontoatabletwithhisstylus.“Isn’tthatright,Will?”Iask,andWillnodshisheadandconfirmsthatIamright.ItwasTheLateShow.TheonewithStephenColbert.
“AndafterTheLateShow?”theofficerasks,andIsayonlythatafterTheLateShowwewenttobed.
“Isthatright,sir?”OfficerBergasks.
“That’sright,”Willsays.“Itwaslate,”hetellstheofficer.“AfterTheLateShow,SadieandIwenttobed.ShehadtoworkinthemorningandI,well,”hesays,“Iwastired.Itwaslate,”hesaysagain,andifhenoticestheredundancy,hedoesn’tshowit.
“Whattimewasthat?”OfficerBergasks.
“Must’vebeenaroundtwelvethirty,”IsaybecauseeventhoughIdon’tknowforsure,Icandothemath.Hemakesnoteofthis,movingon,asking,“Haveyouseenanythingoutoftheordinaryoverthelastfewdays?”
“Suchas?”Iinquire,andheshrugs,suggesting,“Anythingunusual.Anythingatall.Strangerslurkingabout.Carsyoudon’trecognize,cruisingby,surveillingtheneighborhood.”
ButIshakemyheadandsay,“We’renewhere,Officer.Wedon’tknowmanypeople.”
ButthenIrememberthatWillknowspeople.ThatwhenI’matworkallday,Willhasbeenmakingfriends.
“Therewasonething,”Willsays,speakingupallofasudden.TheofficerandIturntohimatthesametime.
“What’sthat?”asksOfficerBerg.
Butjustassoonashe’ssaidit,Willtriestorenege.Heshakeshishead.“Nevermind,”hesays.“Ishouldn’thavebroughtitup.I’msureitmeansnothing,justanaccidentonmypart.”
“Whydon’tyouletmedecide,”OfficerBergsays.
Willexplains,“Therewasadaynotsolongago,acoupleofweeksmaybe.I’dtakenTatetoschoolandheadedoutonafewerrands.Iwasn’tgonelong,acoupleofhours,tops.ButwhenIcamehome,somethingwasoff.”
“Howso?”
“Well,thegaragedoorwasup,forone.Iwould’vebetmylifeIputitdown.Andthen,whenIcameinside,Iwasnearlyknockedoverbythesmellofgas.Itwassopotent.ThankGodthedogswereokay.Lordonlyknowshowlongthey’dbeenbreathingitin.Itdidn’ttakelongtofindthesource.Itwascomingfromthestove.”
“Thestove?”Iask.ItellWill,“Youdidn’ttellmethis.”Myvoiceisflat,composed,butinsideIfeelanythingbut.
Will’svoiceisconciliatory.“Ididn’twantyoutoworryfornothing.Iopenedthedoorsandwindows.Iairedthehouseout.”Heshrugsandsays,“Itprobablywasn’tevenworthmentioning,Sadie.Ishouldn’thavebroughtitup.Ithadbeenabusymorning.IwasmakingFrenchtoast.TateandIwererunninglate.Imusthavelefttheburneroninamadscrambletogetoutthedoorontime.Thepilotlightmusthaveblownout.”
OfficerBergdismissesthisasanaccident.Heturnstomenow.“Butnotyou,Doctor?”heasks.“Youhaven’tnoticedanythingoutoftheordinary?”Itellhimno.
“HowdidMrs.Bainesseemthelasttimeyouspoketoher,Doctor?”OfficerBergasksmenow.“Wasshe…?”hebegins,butIstophimthereandexplainthatIdon’tknowMorganBaines.Thatwe’venevermet.
“I’vebeenbusysincewearrived,”Isay,apologizing,thoughthere’sreallynoneedto.“Ijustneverfoundthetimetostopbyandintroducemyself,”Itellhim,thinking—thoughIdon’tdaresayit;thatwouldbeinsensitive—thatMorganBainesalsoneverfoundthetimetostopbyandintroduceherselftome.
“Sadie’sscheduleisfastandfurious,”Willinterjects,sothattheofficerdoesn’tjudgemefornotmakingfriendswiththeneighbors.I’mgratefulforthis.“Sheworkslongshifts,nearlyeverydayoftheweek,itseems.Myownscheduleistheopposite.Iteachonlythreecourses,whichoverlapwithTate’sschoolschedule.It’sintentional.Whenhe’shere,I’mhere.Sadie’sthebreadwinner,”Willadmitswithnoindignity,noshame.“I’mthestay-at-homedad.Weneverwantedourchildrentoberaisedbyananny,”hesays,whichwassomethingwecameupwithlongago,beforeOttowasborn.Itwasapersonalchoice.Fromafinancialstandpoint,itmadesensethatWillwouldbetheonetostayhome.Imademoremoneythanhim,thoughwenevertalkedaboutthingslikethat.Willdidhispart;Ididmine.
“IspoketoMorganjustacoupleofdaysago,”hesays,answeringtheofficer’squestionforme.“Sheseemedfine,wellenoughatleast.Theirhotwaterheaterwasonthefritz.Shewaswaitingonarepairmantoseeifitcouldbefixed.Itriedtofixitmyself.I’mhandyenough,”hesays,“justnotthathandy
“Doyouhaveanyleads?”Willasks,changingtopics.“Anysignsofforcedentry,anysuspects?”
OfficerBergflipsthroughhistabletandtellsWillthathecan’trevealtoomuchjustyet.“But,”hetellsWill,“whatIcansayisMrs.Baineswaskilledbetweenthehoursoftenandtwolastnight,”andthere,onthearmofthesofa,Isitupstraighter,staringoutthewindow.ThoughtheBaineses’homeisjustoutofviewfromwhereIsit,Ican’thelpbutthinkabouthowlastnightaswewerehere,drinkingwineandwatchingTV,shewasthere—justbeyondmyviewpoint—beingmurdered.
Butthat’snotall.
Becauseeverynightateightthirtyintheevening,thelastferryleaves.Whichmeansthatthekillerspentthenightamongus,hereontheisland.
OfficerBergstandsupquickly,startlingme.Igasp,myhandgoingtomyheart.
“Everythingallright,Doctor?”heasks,gazingdownatme,trembling.
“Fine,”Itellhim.“Justfine.”
Herunshishandsdownthethighsofhispants,straighteningthem.“Isupposewe’reallabitjumpytoday,”hetellsme,andInodmyheadandagree.
“AnythingSadieandIcando,”WilltellsOfficerBergashewalkshimtothefrontdoor.Irisefrommyseatandfollowalong.“Anythingatall,pleaseletusknow.We’reheretohelp.”
BergtipshishatatWill,asignofgratitude.“Iappreciatethat.Asyoucanimagine,theentiretyoftheislandisonedge,peoplefearfulfortheirlives.Thiskindofthingdoesn’tbodewellfortourismeither.Noonewantstovisitwhenthere’samurdererontheloose.We’dliketogetthiswrappedupasquicklyaswecan.Anythingyouhear,anythingyousee…”hesays,voicedrifting,andWillsays,“Iunderstand.”
ThemurderofMorganBainesisbadforbusiness.
OfficerBergsayshisgoodbyes.HehandsWillabusinesscard.He’sabouttoleave,butbeforehedoes,hehasonelastinquiry.
“How’sthehousetreatingyou?”heasksofftopic,andWillrepliesthatit’sbeenallright.
“It’sdatedand,asdatedthingsgo,hasissues.Draftywindows,afaultyfurnacethatwe’llneedtoreplace.”
Theofficergrimaces.“Afurnaceisn’tcheap.That’llrunyouafewgrand.”
Willtellshimheknows.
“ShameaboutAlice,”OfficerBergsaysthen,meetingWill’seye.Willechoeshissentiment.
Itisn’toftenthatIbroachthesubjectofAlicewithWill.ButtherearethingsIfindmyselfwantingtoknow,likewhatAlicewaslike,andifsheandIwouldhavegottenalongifwe’deverhadthechancetomeet.Iimaginethatshewasantisocial—thoughI’dneversaythattoWill.ButIthinkthatthepainoffibromyalgiawouldhavekeptherathome,awayfromanysortofsociallife.
“Ineverwouldhavepeggedherforthesuicidetype,”OfficerBergsaysthenand,ashedoes,Igetthesensethatmyinstinctwaswrong.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”Willasks,ahintofdefensivenessinhisvoice.
“Oh,Idon’tknow,”OfficerBergsays,thoughclearlyhedoesbecausehegoesontotellushowAlice,aregularatFridaynightbingo,wasaffableandjollywhenhesawher.Howshehadasmilethatcouldlightuparoom.“IguessIjustneverunderstoodhowapersonlikethatwindsuptakingtheirownlife.”
Thespacebetweenusfillswithsilence,tension.Idon’tthinkhemeantanythingbyit;themanisabitsociallyawkward.Still,Willlookshurt.Hesaysnothing.I’mtheonetospeak.“Shesufferedfromfibromyalgia,”Isay,realizingOfficerBergmustnotknowthis,ormaybehe’soneofthosepeoplewhothinkit’smoreofamentaldisorderthanamedicalone.Fibromyalgiaishighlymisunderstood.Peoplebelieveit’smadeup,thatitisn’treal.Thereisnocure,and,onthesurface,apersonappearstobefine;there’snotestthatcanbeusedtodiagnosefibromyalgia.Becauseofthis,thediagnosisisbasedonsymptomsalone—inotherwords,widespreadpainthatcan’totherwisebeexplained.Forthisreason,alargeportionofphysiciansthemselvesquestionthecredibilityofthecondition,oftensuggestingpatientsseeapsychiatristfortreatmentinstead.Itmakesmesadtothinkabout,Aliceinsomuchpainandnoonebelievingit.
“Yes,ofcourse,”OfficerBergsays.“It’ssuchaterriblething.Shemusthavereallybeenhurtingtodowhatshedid,”hesays,andagain,myeyesgotoWill.IknowthatOfficerBergdoesn’tmeantoberude;inhisownawkwardway,he’sofferinghissympathy.
“IlikedAlicealot,”hesays.“Shewasalovelylady.”
“Indeedshewas,”Willsays,andagainOfficerBergmumbles,“Suchashame,”beforehesaysafinalgoodbyeandgoes.
Oncehe’sgone,Willheadsquietlytothekitchentostartdinner.Ilethimgo,watchingoutthenarrowpaneofglassalongsidethedoorasOfficerBergpullshisCrownVicfromourdrive.Heheadsuphill,abouttojoinhiscohortattheBaineses’home,orsoIthink.
Butthenhedoesn’tgototheBaineses’home.Insteadhepullshiscartotheendofthedriveacrossthestreetfromtheirs,atthehomeoftheNilssons.OfficerBergstepsout.Heleavesthecarrunning,redtaillightsbrightagainstthedarknessofnight.IwatchasBergplacessomethinginsideamailboxandclosesthedoor.Hereturnstohiscar,disappearingoverthecrestofthehill.
CAMILLE
IdisappearedthatnightafterWillandSadiemet.Iwasfullofanger,ofself-loathing.
ButIcouldn’tstayawayfromWillforever.Ithoughtabouthimallthetime.HewasthereeverytimeIsomuchasblinked.
Eventually,Isoughthimout.Alittleinternetsurfingtoldmewherehelived,whereheworked.Ilookedforhim.IfoundwhatIwaslookingfor.Thoughbythenhewasolder,grayer,withkids,whileinallthoseyears,Ihadn’tchangedmuch.Mygenepoolwasapparentlyagoodone.Agecouldn’ttouchme.Myhairwasstillthecolorofrust,myeyesanelectricblue.Myskinhadyettobetrayme
Iputonadress,ablackoff-the-shoulderdress.Iputonmakeup,perfume.Iputonjewelry.Ididmyhair.
Ifollowedhimfordays,showedupwhereheleastexpectedtoseeme.
Rememberme?Iasked,corneringhiminadeli.Istoodtooclose.Igraspedhimbytheelbow.Icalledhimbyname.Becausethere’snothingthatexcitesusmorethanthesoundofourownname.It’sthesweetestsoundintheworldtous.CornerofMadisonandWabash.Fifteenyearsago.Yousavedmylife,Will.
Itdidn’ttakebutamomentforhimtoremember.Hisfacelitup.
Timehadtakenitstollonhim.Thestrainofmarriage,ofparenting,ofajob,amortgage.ThisWillwasaburned-outversionoftheWillImet.
ItwasnothingIcouldn’tfix.
Hejustneededtoforgetforawhilethathehadawifeandkids.
Icouldhelphimwiththat.
Igavehimawidesmile.Itookhimbythehand.
Ifitwasn’tforyou,Isaid,leaningintowhisperthewordsinhisear,I’dbedead.
Therewasasparkinhiseyes.Hischeeksflushed.Hiseyessweptmeupanddown,landingnearmylips.
Hesmiled,said,HowcouldIeverforget?
Helightenedup;helaughed.Whatareyoudoinghere?
Itossedmyhairoverashoulder,said,Iwasoutside,justpassingby.IthoughtIsawyouthroughthewindow.
Hetouchedtheendsofmyhair,saiditlookednice.
Andthatdress,hesaid,followeditupwithalong,lowwhistle.
Hewasn’tlookingatmylipsanymore.Nowhewaslookingatmythighs.
IknewwhereIwantedthisconversationtogo.AsIoftendid,Igotmyway.Itwasn’tinstantaneous,no.Ittooksomepowerofpersuasion,whichcomesnaturallytome.Rulenumberone:reciprocity.Idosomethingforyou,youdosomethingformeinreturn.
Iwipedthemustardfromhislip.Isawthathisdrinkwasempty.Ireachedforthecup,refilleditatthesodafountain.
Youdidn’thavetodothat,hesaidasIsatbackdown,slidhisPepsiacrossthetable,madecertainourhandstouchedasIdid.Icouldhavegottenitmyself.
Ismiledandsaid,IknowIdidn’thaveto.Iwantedto,Will.
Andjustlikethat,heowedmesomething.
There’salsolikability.IcanbeextremelylikablewhenIwanttobe.Iknowjustwhattosay,whattodo,howtobecharming.Thetrickistoaskopen-endedquestions,togetpeopletotalkaboutthemselves.Itmakesthemfeellikethemostinterestingpersonintheworld.
There’salsotheimportanceoftouch.Complianceissomucheasiertoachievewithasingletouchtothearm,theshoulder,thethigh.
AddthattothefactthathisandSadie’smarriagereadmorelikeaguidebookonabstinence,fromwhatI’dseen.WillneededsomethingonlyIcouldgivetohim.
Hedidn’tsayyesatfirst.Hegrinnedsheepishlyinstead,turningred.Hesaidhehadameeting,somewhereelseheneededtobe.
Ican’t,hesaid.ButIconvincedhimhecould.Becausenotfifteenminuteslater,wewereslippingdownanadjacentalleyway.Thereinthatalley,heleanedmeagainstabuilding.Heeasedhishandunderthehemofthedress,pressedhismouthtomine.
Nothere,Isaid,thinkingonlyofhim.I’dbefinedoingthatthere.Buthehadamarriage,areputation.Ihadneither.Let’sgosomewhere,Isaidintohisear.
Therewasahotelheknew,halfablockaway.NottheRitz,butitwoulddo.Weracedupthestairs,intotheroom.
There,hethrewmeonthebed,hadhiswaywithme.Whenweweredone,welayinbed,breathingheavy,tryingtocatchourbreath.
Willwasthefirsttospeak.Thatwasjust…Hewastongue-tiedwhenwewerethrough,butradiant,beaming.
Hetriedagain.Thatwasamazing.You,hesaid,kneelingoverme,handsoneithersideofmyhead,eyesonmine,areamazing.
Iwinked,said,You’renotsobadyourself.
Hestaredatmeawhile.I’dneverbeenlookedatlikethatbyaman,likehecouldn’tgetenoughofme.Hesaidthatheneededthis,morethanI’deverknow.Anescapefromreality.Mytiming,hesaid,wasimpeccable.He’dbeenhavingashittyday,ashittyweek.
Thiswasperfect.
You,hesaid,drinkingmeinwithhiseyes,areperfect.
Helistedformethereasonswhy.Myheartswelledashedid,thoughitwasallskin-deep:myhair,mysmile,myeyes.
Andthen,likethat,Iwaskissinghimagain.
Hepushedhimselffrombedwhenhewasthrough.Ilaythere,watchedasheslippedbackintoadressshirtandjeans.You’releavingsosoon?Iasked.
Hestoodthereattheendofthebed,watchingme.
Hewasapologetic.Ihaveameeting.I’mgoingtobelateasitis.Youstayaslongasyou’dlike,hesaid.Takeanap,getsomerest,asifthatwassomeconsolationprize.Sleepingaloneinacheaphotel.
Heleanedovermebeforeheleft.Hekissedmyforehead,strokedmyhair.Hegazedintomyeyes,said,I’llseeyousoon.Itwasn’taquestion.Itwasapromise.
Ismiled,said,Ofcourseyouwill.You’restuckwithme,Will.Iwon’teverletyougo,andhesmiledandsaidthatwasexactlywhathewantedtohear.
Itriednottobejealousasheleft.Iwasn’tthejealoustype.NotuntilImetWill,andthenIwas,thoughIneverfeltguiltyforwhathappenedbetweenWillandme.Hewasmine.Sadietookhimfromme.Ididn’toweherathing.
Ifanything,sheowedme.
SADIE
TwotimesIcirclethehouse.Imakesureallthedoorsandwindowsarelocked.Idoitonce,andthen,becauseIcan’tbesureIgotthemall,Idoitagain.Ipulltheblinds,thecurtainsclosed,wonderingifitwouldbeprudenttohaveasecuritysysteminstalledinthehome.
Thisevening,aspromised,WilldroveImogentothepublicsafetybuildingtospeakwithOfficerBerg.IhopedWillwouldcomehomewithnewsaboutthemurder—somethingtosettleme—buttherewasnothingtoreport.Thepoliceweren’tanyclosertosolvingthecrime.I’veseenstatisticsonmurders.Somethinglikeone-thirdormoreofmurdersbecomecoldcasefiles,leavingpolicedepartmentsmiredinunsolvedcrimes.It’sanepidemic.
Thenumberofmurdererswalkingamonguseverydayisfrightening.
Theycanbeanywhereandwe’dneverknow.
AccordingtoWill,ImogenhadnothingtoofferOfficerBergaboutlastnight.Shewasasleep,asIknewshe’dbeen.Whenaskedifshe’dseenanythingoutoftheordinaryoverthelastfewweeks,sheturnedstiffandgrayandsaid,“Mymomhangingfromtheendofafuckingnoose.”OfficerBerghadnomorequestionsforherafterthat.
AsIcontemplateathirdgo-roundofthewindowsanddoors,Willcallstomefromthetopofthestairs,asksifI’mcomingtobedanytimesoon.Itellhimyes,I’mcoming,asIgivethefrontdoorafinaltug.Ileaveonalivingroomlamptogivethepretensewe’reawake.
IclimbthestairsandsettleintobedbesideWill.ButIcan’tsleep.Allnight,Ifindmyselflyinginbed,thinkingaboutwhatOfficerBergsaid,howthelittleBainesgirlwastheonetofindMorgandead.IwonderhowwellTateknowsthislittlegirl.Tateandsheareinclasstogether,butthatdoesn’tmeanthey’refriends.
IfindthatI’munabletoshakefrommymindtheimageofthesix-year-oldgirlstandingoverhermother’slifelessbody.Iwonderifshewasscared.Ifshescreamed.Ifthekillerlurkednearby,gettingoffonthesoundofherscream.Iwonderhowlongshewaitedfortheambulancetoarrive,andif,inthattime,shefearedforherownlife.Ithinkofher,alone,findinghermotherdeadinthesamewaythatImogenfoundherownmotherdead.Notthesame,no.Suicideandmurderaretwoverydifferentthings.Butstill,it’sunfathomableformetothinkwhatthesegirlshaveseenintheirshortlives.
Besideme,Willsleepslikearock.Butnotme.BecauseasIliethereunsleepingIstarttowonderifthekillerisstillontheislandwithus,orifhe’sgonebynow.
Islipfrombedatthethoughtofit,myheartgainingspeed.Ihavetobesurethekidsareokay.Thedogs,ontheirownbedsinthecorneroftheroom,takenoteandfollowalong.ItellthemtohushasWillrollsoverinbed,pullingthesheetwithhim.
Onthewoodenfloors,mybarefeetarecold.Butit’stoodarktofeelaroundforslippers.Ileavethembehind.Istepoutofthebedroom,movingdownthenarrowhall.
IgotoTate’sroomfirst.There,inthedoorway,Ipause.Tatesleepswiththebedroomdooropen,anight-lightpluggedintokeepmonstersatbay.Hissmallbodyissetinthemiddleofthebed,astuffedChihuahuaheldtightlybetweenhisarms.Peacefullyhesleeps,hisowndreamsuninterruptedbythoughtsofmurderanddeath,unlikemine.Iwonderwhathedreamsof.Maybepuppydogsandicecream.
IwonderwhatTateknowsofdeath.IwonderwhatIknewofdeathwhenIwassevenyearsold,ifIknewmuchofanything.
ImoveontoOtto’sroom.There’saroofoutsideOtto’swindow,asingle-storyslateroofthathangsoverthefrontporch.Aseriesofclimbablecolumnsholditupright.Gettinginoroutwouldn’tbesuchadifficulttaskinthemiddleofthenight.
MyfeetinstinctivelypickuppaceasIcrossthehall,tellingmyselfOttoissafe,thatcertainlyanintruderwouldn’tclimbtothesecondfloortogetin.Butinthatmoment,Ican’tbesosure.Iturnthehandleandpressthedoorsilentlyopen,terrifiedofwhatI’llfindontheotherside.Thewindowopen,thebedempty.Butit’snotthecase.Ottoishere.Ottoisfine.
Istandinthedoorway,watchingforawhile.Itakeastepcloserforabetterlook,holdingmybreathsoIdon’twakehim.Helookspeaceful,thoughhisblankethasbeenkickedtotheendofthebedandhispillowtossedtothefloor.Hisheadliesflatonthemattress.Ireachfortheblanketanddrawitoverhim,rememberingwhenhewasyoungandwouldaskmetosleepwithhim.WhenIdid,he’dtossaheavyarmacrossmyneckandholdmethatway,notlettinggotheentirenight.He’sgrownuptoofast.Iwishforitback.
IgotoImogen’sroomnext.Isetmyhandonthehandleandsluggishlyturn,carefulnottomakeanynoise.Butthehandledoesn’tturn.Thedoorislockedfromtheinside.Ican’tcheckonher.
Iturnawayfromthedoorandinchdownthestairs.Thedogsfollowonmyheels,butImovefartooslowlyfortheirliking.Atsomepoint,theybypassmeanddashdowntherestofthesteps,cuttingthroughthefoyerforthebackdoor.Theirnailsclick-clackonthewoodenfloorsliketypewriterkeys.
Ipausebeforethefrontdoorandglanceoutthesidelightwindow.Fromthisangle,IcatchaglimpseoftheBaineses’house.There’sactivitygoingonevenatthislatehour.Lightfloodstheinsideofit,ahandfulofpeoplemillingaboutinside.Policeonaquest.Iwonderwhatthey’llfind.
Thedogswhineatmefromthekitchen,stealingmyattentionawayfromthewindow.Theywanttogooutside.Ifollowthem,openingtheslidingglassdoor,andtheygorushingout.Theymakeabeelineforthecorneroftheyard,wherethey’verecentlybegundiggingdivotsinthegrass.Theincessantdigginghasbecometheirlatestcompulsionandalsomypetpeeve.Iclapmyhandstogethertogetthemtostop.
Ibrewmyselfacupofteaandsitdownatthekitchentable.Ilookaroundforthingstodo.There’snopointingoingbacktobedbecauseIknowIwon’tsleep.There’snothingworsethanlyinginbed,restless,worryingaboutthingsIcan’tdoanythingabout.
OntheedgeofthetablesitsabookWillhasbeenreading,atruecrimenovelwithabookmarkthrustinthecenterofit.
Itakethebookintothelivingroom,turnonalampandsettlemyselfonAlice’smarigoldsofatoread.Ispreadanafghanovermylap.Iopenthebook.ByaccidentWill’sbookmarkcomestumblingout,fallingtothefloorbesidemyfeet
“Shit,”Isay,reachingdownforthebookmark,feelingguiltythatI’velostWill’spage.
Buttheguiltonlylastssolongbeforeit’sreplacedwithsomethingelse.Jealousy?Anger?Empathy?Ormaybesurprise.Becausethebookmarkisn’ttheonlythingthat’sfallenoutofthepagesofthebook.Becausethere’salsoaphotoofErin,Will’sfirstfiancée,thewomanhewassupposedtomarryinsteadofme.
Mygaspisaudible.Myhandcomestoastopinchesaboveherface,myhearthastening.
WhyisWillhidingaphotographofErininsidethisbook?WhydoesWillstillhavethisphotographatall?
Thephotoisold,twentyyearsmaybe.Erinlookstobeabouteighteenornineteeninit.Herhairiswild,hersmilecarefree.Istareatthepicture,intoErin’seyes.There’sapangofjealousybecauseofhowbeautifulsheis.Howmagnetic.
ButhowcanIbejealousofawomanwhoisdead?
WillandIhadbeendatingforoveramonthbeforehementionedhername.Wewerestillinthatcompletelysmittenstage,wheneverythingfeltnoteworthyandimportant.We’dtalkonthephoneforhours.Ididn’thavemuchtosayaboutmypast,andso,instead,Itoldhimaboutmyfuture,aboutallthethingsIplannedtoonedaydo.Will’sfuturewasundecidedwhenwemet,andsohetoldmeabouthispast.Abouthischildhooddog.Abouthisstepfather’sdiagnosiswithcancer,thefactthathismotherhasbeenmarriedthreetimes.AndhetoldmeaboutErin,thewomanhewassupposedtomarry,awomanhewasengagedtoformonthsbeforeshedied.Willcriedopenlywhenhetoldmeabouther.Heheldnothingback,andIlovedhimforitbecauseofhisgreatcapacitytolove.
Inallmylife,Ididn’tthinkI’deverseenagrownmancry.
Atthetime,thesadnessofWilllosingafiancéeonlyattractedmetohimmore.Willwasbroken,likeabutterflywithoutwings.Iwantedtobetheonetohealhim.
It’sbeenyearssincehernamehascomeup.It’snotasifwetalkabouther.ButeverynowandthenanotherErinismentionedanditgivesuspause.Thenamealonecarriessomuchweight.ButwhyWillwoulddigthisphotographoutofGodknowswhereandcarryitaroundwithhimisbeyondme.Whynow,afterallthistime?
MyhandgrazesthephotographbutIdon’thaveitinmetopickitup.Notyet.I’veonlyseenoneotherphotographofErinbefore,onethatWillshowedtomeyearsagoatmyrequest.Hedidn’twantto,butIinsisted.Iwantedtoknowwhatshelookedlike.WhenIaskedtoseeapicture,heshowedmewithcircumspection.Hewasn’tsurehowI’dreact.Itriedtobepoker-facedaboutit,buttherewasnodenyingthesharppainsIfeltinside.Shewasbreathtaking.
Iknewinthatinstant:Willonlylovedmebecauseshewasgone.Iwashissecondpick.
IbrushmyfingeragainstErin’sfairskinnow.Ican’tbejealous.Isimplycan’t.AndIcan’tbemad.Itwouldbeinsensitiveofmetoaskhimtothrowitaway.ButhereIam,afteralltheseyears,feelinglikeI’mplayingsecondfiddletothememoryofawomanwho’sdead.
Ireachforthephotoandholditinmyhandthistime.Iwon’tletmyselfbeacoward.Istareather.There’ssomethingsochildishaboutherface,soaudaciousandraw,thatIfeelthegreatestneedtoscoldherforwhateveritisshe’sthinkingasshemakesapoutyfaceatthecamera,onethatisasprovocativeasitisbold.
Ijamthepictureandthebookmarksomewherebackinsidethebook,risefromthesofaandbringthebooktothekitchentable.Ileaveitthere,havingsuddenlylostthedesiretoread.
Thedogshavebeguntobark.Ican’tleavethemoutsidebarkinginthemiddleofthenight.Iopenthesliderandcalltothem,buttheydon’tcome.
I’mforcedoutsideintothebackyardtogettheirattention.Thepatioisfreezingcoldonmybarefeet.ButthatdiscomfortissecondarytowhatIfeelinsideasIgettakenin,swallowedbythedarkness.ThekitchenlightfadesquicklybehindmeastheDecembernightclosesin.
Icanseenothing.Ifsomeonewasthere,standinginthedarknessofouryard,Iwouldn’tknow.Anunwantedthoughtcomespummelingintomethen.MysalivacatchesinmythroatandIchoke.
Dogshaveadaptationsthatpeopledon’thave.Theycanseemuchbetterthanhumansinthedark.ItmakesmewonderwhatthedogsseethatIcan’tsee,whatthey’rebarkingat.
Ihissoutintothenight,callingquietlyforthegirls.It’sthemiddleofthenight;Idon’twanttoshout.ButI’mtooscaredtogoanyfartheroutsidethanIalreadyam.
HowdoIknowthatMorganBaines’skillerisn’tthere?
HowdoIknowthatthedogsaren’tbarkingbecausethere’samurdererinmyyard?
Backlitbythekitchenlight,I’mafishinafishbowl.
Icanseenothing.Butwhoeveristhere—ifanyoneisthere—caneasilyseeme.
Withoutthinkingitthrough,Itakeastepsuddenlyback.Thefearisoverwhelming.There’sthegreatestneedtorunbackintothekitchen,closeandlockthedoorbehindmyself,pullthedrapesshut.Butwouldthedogsbeabletofendoffakillerallontheirown?
AndthenthedogssuddenlystoptheirbarkingandI’mnotsurewhatterrifiesmemore,thebarkingorthesilence.
Myheartpoundsharder.Myskinprickles,atinglingsensationthatrunsupanddownmyarms.Myimaginationgoeswild,wonderingwhathorriblethingisstandinginmyyard.
Ican’tstandherewaitingtofindout.Iclapmyhands,calltothedogsagain.Ihurryinsidefortheirbiscuitsandshaketheboxfrantically.Thistime,bythegraceofGod,theycome.Iopenthebox,spillahalfdozentreatsonthekitchenfloorbeforeclosingandlockingtheslider,pullingthedrapestightlyclosed.
Backupstairs,Icheckagainontheboys.They’rejustasIleftthem.
ButImogen’sdoor,thistimeasIpassby,isopenaninch.It’snolongerclosed.It’snolongerlocked.ThehallwayisnarrowanddarkwithjustenoughlightthatI’mnotblind.Afaintglowfromthelampinthelivingroomrisesuptome.Ithelpsmesee.
Myeyesgotothatone-inchgapbetweenImogen’sdoorandtheframe.Itwasn’tlikethatthelasttimeIwashere.Imogen’sroom,likeOtto’s,facesontothestreet.Igotoherdoorandpressonit,easingitopenanotherinchortwo,justenoughsothatIcanseeinside.She’slyingthere,onherbed,withherbacktome.Ifshe’sfakingsleep,shedoessoquitewell.Herbreathingisrhythmicanddeep.Iseetheriseandfallofthesheet.Hercurtainsareopen,moonlightstreamingintotheroom.Thewindow,likethedoor,isopenaninch.Theroomisicycold,butIdon’trisksteppinginsidetocloseit.
Backinourbedroom,IshakeWillawake.Iwon’ttellWillaboutImogenbecausethere’snothingreallytosay.ForallIknow,shewasupusingthebathroom.Shegothotandopenedherwindow.Thesearenotcrimes,thoughotherquestionsnagatthebackofmymind.
Whydidn’tIhearatoiletflush?
Whydidn’tInoticethechillfromthebedroomthefirsttimeIpassedby?
“Whatisit?What’swrong?”Willasks,half-asleep.
Asherubsathiseyes,Isay,“Ithinkthere’ssomethinginthebackyard.”
“Likewhat?”heasks,clearinghisthroat,hiseyesdrowsyandhisvoiceheavywithsleep.
IwaitabeatbeforeItellhim.“Idon’tknow,”Isay,leaningintohimasIsayit.“Maybeaperson.”
“Aperson?”Willasks,sittingquicklyupright,andItellhimaboutwhatjusthappened,howtherewassomething—orsomeone—inthebackyardthatspookedthedogs.MyvoiceistremulouswhenIspeak.Willnotices.“Didyouseeaperson?”heasks,butItellhimno,thatIdidn’tseeanythingatall.ThatIonlyknewsomethingwasthere.Agutinstinct.
Willsayscompassionately,hishandreassuringlystrokingmine,“You’rereallyshakenupaboutit,aren’tyou?”
Hewrapsbothhandsaroundmine,feelingthewaytheytrembleinhis.ItellhimthatIam.Ithinkthathe’sgoingtogetoutofbedandgoseeforhimselfifthere’ssomeoneinourbackyard.Butinsteadhemakesmesecond-guessmyself.Itisn’tintentionalandheisn’ttryingtopatronizeme.Rather,he’sthevoiceofreasonasheasks,“Butwhataboutacoyote?Araccoonoraskunk?Areyousureitwasn’tjustsomeanimalsthatgotthedogsworkedup?”
Itsoundssosimple,soobviousashesaysit.Iwonderifhe’sright.Itwouldexplainwhythedogsweresoupset.Perhapstheysniffedoutsomewildliferoamingaroundourbackyard.They’rehunters.Naturallytheywouldhavewantedtogetatwhateverwasthere.It’sthefarmorelogicalthingtobelievethanthattherewasakillertraipsingthroughourbackyard.Whatwouldakillerwantwithus?
Ishruginthedarkness.“Maybe,”Isay,feelingfoolish,butnotentirelyso.Therewasamurderjustacrossthestreetfromuslastnightandthemurdererhasn’tbeenfound.It’snotsoirrationaltobelievehe’sstillnearby.
Willtellsmeobligingly,“WecouldmentionittoOfficerBerganywayinthemorning.Askhimtolookintoit.Ifnothingelse,askifcoyotesareaproblemaroundhere.Itwouldbegoodtoknowanyway,tomakesurewekeepaneyeonthedogs.”
Ifeelgratefulhehumorsme.ButItellhimno.“I’msureyou’reright,”Isay,crawlingbackintobedbesidehim,knowingIstillwon’tsleep.“Itprobablywasacoyote.I’msorryIwokeyou.Gobacktobed,”Isay,andhedoes,wrappingaheavyarmaroundme,protectingmefromwhateverliesontheothersideofourdoor.
SADIE
IcometowhenWillsaysmyname.Imusthavespacedout.
He’stherebesideme,givingmealook.AWilllook,fraughtwithworry.“Where’dyougo?”heasks,asIlookaround,getmybearings.Asuddenheadachehasnearlygottenthebestofme,makingmefeelswimmyinside.
Itellhim,“Idon’tknow,”notrememberingwhatweweretalkingaboutbeforeIspacedout.
Ilookdowntoseethatabuttononmyshirthascomeundone,revealingtheblackofmybrabeneath.Ibuttonbackup,apologizetohimforzoningoutinthemiddleofourconversation.“I’mjusttired,”Isay,rubbingatmyeyes,takinginthesightofWillbeforeme,thekitchenaroundme.
“Youlooktired,”Willagrees,andIfeeltheagitationbriminside.IglancepastWillandintothebackyard,expectingtoseesomethingoutofplace.Signsofatrespasserinouryardlastnight.There’snothing,butstill,Iprickleanyway,rememberwhatitfeltlikeasIstoodinthedarkness,pleadingforthedogstocome.
Theboysareatthetable,eatingthelastoftheirbreakfast.Willstandsatthecounter,fillingamugthathepassestome.Iwelcomethecoffeeintomyhandsandtakeabiggulp.
“Ididn’tsleepwell,”Isay,notwantingtoadmitthetruth,thatIdidn’tsleepatall.
“Wanttotalkaboutit?”heasks,thoughitdoesn’tseemlikesomethingthatneedstobesaid.Thisissomethingheshouldknow.Awomanwasmurderedinherhomeacrossthestreetfromustwonightsago.
MyeyesbreezepastTateatthetable,andItellhimnobecausethisisn’taconversationTateshouldhear.Foraslongaswecan,I’dliketokeephischildhoodinnocencealive.
“Doyouhavetimeforbreakfast?”Willasks.
“Nottoday,”Isay,lookingattheclock,seeingthatit’sevenlaterthanIthoughtitwas.Ineedtogetgoing.Ibegingatheringthings,mybagandmycoat,togo.Will’sbagwaitsforhimbesidethetable,andIwonderifhestuckhistruecrimenovelinsidethebag,thebookwiththephotographofErinhiddeninside.Idon’thavethecouragetotellWillIknowaboutthephotograph.
IkissTategoodbye.IsnatchtheearbudsfromOtto’searstotellhimtohurry
Idrivetotheferry.OttoandIdon’tsaymuchonthewaythere.Weusedtobecloserthanweare,buttimeandcircumstancehavepulledusapart.Howmanyteenageboys,Iaskmyself,tryingnottotakeitpersonally,areclosewiththeirmother?Few,ifany.ButOttoisasensitiveboy,differentthantherest.
Heleavesthecarwithonlyaquickgoodbyeforme.Iwatchashecrossesthemetalgratebridgeandboardstheferrywiththeotherearly-morningcommuters.Hisheavybackpackisslungacrosshisback.Idon’tseeImogenanywhere.
It’sseventwentyinthemorning.Outside,it’sraining.Amobofmulticoloredumbrellasmakesitswaydownthestreetthatleadstotheferry.TwoboysaboutOtto’sageclawtheirwayonboardbehindhim,bypassingOttointheentranceway,laughing.They’relaughingatsomeinsidejoke,Iassuremyself,notathim,butmystomachchurnsjustthesame,andIthinkhowlonelyitmustbeinOtto’sworld,anoutcastwithoutanyfriends.
There’splentyofseatinginsidetheferrywhereit’swarmanddry,butOttoclimbsallthewayuptotheupperdeck,standingintherainwithoutanumbrella.Iwatchasdeckhandsraisethegangplankanduntietheboatbeforeitventuresoffintothefoggysea,stealingOttofromme.
OnlythendoIseeOfficerBergstaringatme.
HestandsontheothersideofthestreetjustoutsidehisCrownVictoria,leanedupagainstthepassenger’ssidedoor.Inhishandsarecoffeeandacinnamonroll,justastone’sthrowawayfromthestereotypicaldoughnutcopsarenotoriousforeating,thoughslightlymorerefined.Ashewavesatme,Igetthesensethathe’sbeenwatchingmetheentiretime,watchingasIwatchOttoleave.
Hetipshishatatme.Iwaveathimthroughthecarwindow.
WhatIusuallydoatthispointinmydriveismakeaU-turnandgobackupthehillthesamewayIcamedown.ButIcan’tdothatwiththeofficerwatching.Anditdoesn’tmatteranywaybecauseOfficerBerghasabandonedhispostandiswalkingacrossthestreetandtowardme.Hemotionswiththecrankofahandformetoopenmywindow.Ipressthebuttonandthewindowdropsdown.Beadsofrainwelcomethemselvesinsidemycar,gatheringalongtheinteriorofthedoor.OfficerBergdoesn’tcarryanumbrella.Rather,thehoodofarainjacketisthrustoverhishead.Hedoesn’tappeartobebotheredbytherain.
Hejamsthelastbiteofhiscinnamonrollintohismouth,chasesitdownwithaswigofcoffeeandsays,“Morning,Dr.Foust.”Hehasakindfaceforapoliceofficer,lackingtheusualflintinessthatIthinkofwhenIthinkofthepolice.There’ssomethingendearingabouthim,abitofawkwardnessandinsecuritythatIlike.
Itellhimgoodmorning.
“Whataday,”hesays,andIsay,“Quiteadoozy.”
Therainisn’texpectedtogoonallday.Thesun,however,won’tmakeanappearanceanytimesoon.Wherewelive,justoffthecoastofMaine,theclimateistemperedbytheocean.Thetemperaturesaren’tasbitterastheyareinChicagothistimeofyear,thoughstillit’scold.
Whatwe’veheardisthatthebayhasbeenknowntofreezecomewintertime,ferriesforcedtochargethroughicefloestogetpeopletoandfromthemainland.Onewinter,supposedly,theferrygotstuck,andpassengersweremadetowalkacrossyardsoficetogettotheshorelinebeforetheCoastGuardcameinwithacuttertochopitup.
It’sunsettlingtothinkabout.Abitsuffocating,ifI’mbeinghonest,theideaofbeingtrappedontheisland,cordonedofffromtherestoftheworldbyagiantslabofice.
“You’reupearly,”OfficerBergsays,andIreply,“Asareyou.”
“Dutycalls,”hesays,tappingathisbadge.Ireply,“Me,too,”fingeratthereadytohoistthewindowupsothatIcanleave.JoyceandEmmaareexpectingme,andifI’mnottheresoon,I’llneverheartheendofit.Joyceisasticklerforpunctuality.
OfficerBergglancesathiswatch,makesanoffhandguessthattheclinicopensaroundeightthirty.Isaythatitdoes.Heasks,“Haveamomenttospare,Dr.Foust?”Itellhimaquickone.
IpullmycarclosertothecurbandputitinPark.OfficerBergroundsthefrontendofitandletshimselfinthroughthepassenger’ssidedoor.
OfficerBergcutsstraighttothechase.“Ifinishedspeakingtoyourneighborsyesterday,askingthemthesamequestionsIaskedofyouandMr.Foust,”hetellsme,andIgatherfromhistonethatthisisn’tmerelyanupdateontheinvestigation—thoughwhatIwantisanupdateontheinvestigation.IwantOfficerBergtotellmethatthey’rereadytomakeanarrestsoIcansleepbetteratnight,knowingMorgan’skillerisbehindbars.
Earlythismorningbeforethekidswereup,Willsearchedonlinefornewsabouthermurder.TherewasanarticledetailinghowMorganhadbeenfounddeadinherhome.TherewerefactsinitthatwerenewtoWillandme.How,forexample,thepolicefoundthreateningnotesintheBaineses’home,thoughtheydidn’tsaywhatthethreatssaid.
Overnightthepolicereleasedthelittlegirl’s911call.Itwasthereonline,anaudioclipofthesix-year-oldgirlasshefoughtbacktears,tellingtheoperatorontheotherendoftheline,Shewon’twakeup.Morganwon’twakeup.
Inthearticle,shewasneverreferredtobyname,onlyeverasthesix-year-oldgirl,becauseminorsareblessedwithacertainanonymityadultsdon’thave.
WillandIlayinbedwiththelaptopbetweenus,listeningtotheaudioclipthreetimes.Itwasgut-wrenchingtohear.Thelittlegirlmanagedtoremainrelativelycalmandcomposedasthedispatchertalkedherthroughthenextfewminutesandsenthelp,keepingheronthelinetheentiretime.
Buttherewassomethingabouttheaudioclipthatgotundermyskin,somethingIcouldn’tputmyfingeron.Itpesteredmenonetheless,anditwasn’tuntilthethirdgo-roundthatIfinallyheardit.
ShecallshermotherMorgan?I’daskedWill,becausethelittlegirldidn’tsayhermotherwouldn’twakeup.ShesaidMorganwouldn’twakeup.Whywouldshedothat?Iasked.
Will’sreplywasimmediate.
Morganisherstepmother,hesaid.Thenheswallowedhard,triednottocry.Morganwasherstepmother,Imean.
Oh,Isaid.Idon’tknowwhythismattered.Butitseemeditdid.
Jeffreywasmarriedbefore?Iasked.It’snotalwaysthecase,ofcourse.Childrenarebornoutofwedlock.Butitwasworthasking.
Yes,hesaid,buthesaidnomore.IwonderedaboutJeffrey’sfirstwife.Iwonderedwhoshewas,ifshelivedhereontheislandwithus.Willhimselfistheproductofdivorcedparents.It’salwaysbeenasoresubjectwithhim.
HowlongwereJeffreyandMorganmarried?Iasked,wonderingwhatelseshetoldhim.
Justoverayear.
They’renewlyweds,Isaid.
They’renothinganymore,Sadie,Willcorrectedmeagain.He’sawidower.She’sdead.
Westoppedtalkingafterthat.Together,insilence,wereadon.
Iwondernow,asIsitinmycarbesideOfficerBerg,aboutsignsofforcedentry—abrokenwindow,abusteddoorjamb—orblood.Wastherebloodatthescene?Ordefensivewounds,maybe,onMorgan’shands?Didshetrytofightherintruderoff?
Ormaybethelittlegirlsawtheattackerorheardherstepmotherscream.
Idon’taskOfficerBerganyofthis.It’sbeenovertwenty-fourhourssincethepoorwomanwaskilled.Theetchedlinesonhisforeheadaredeepertodaythantheywerebefore.Thepressureoftheinvestigationisweighingonhim,andIrealizethen:he’snoclosertosolvingthiscrimethanhewasyesterday.Myheartsinks.
InsteadIask,“HasMr.Bainesbeenlocated?”andhetellsmethathe’sonhisway,thoughit’satwenty-some-hourtripfromTokyowithlayoversatLAXandJFK.Hewon’tbehomeuntiltonight.
“Haveyoufoundhercellphone?Thatmightgiveyousomethingtogoon?”Iask
Heshakeshishead.They’vebeenlooking,hesays,butsofartheycan’tfindherphone.“Therearewaystotrackamissingcellphone,butifthephoneisofforthebatteryisdead,thosewon’twork.Obtainingawarrantforrecordsfromatelecommunicationscompanyistedious.Ittakestime.Butwe’reworkingonit,”hetellsme.
OfficerBergshiftsintheseat.Heturnshisbodytowardmine,kneesnowpointedinmydirection.Theybumpawkwardlyintothegearshift.Thereareraindropsonhiscoatandhishair.There’sicingonhisupperlip.
“YoutoldmeyesterdaythatyouandMrs.Bainesnevermet,”hesays,andIhavetroublesnatchingmyeyesfromtheicingasIreply,“That’sright.Wenevermet.”
Therewasaphotographonlineofthewoman.Accordingtothepaper,shewastwenty-eightyearsold,elevenyearsyoungerthanme.Inthephoto,shestoodsurroundedbyherfamily,herhappyhusbandononeside,stepdaughtertheother,allofthemdolledupincoordinatingclothesandwreathedinsmiles.Shehadabeautifulsmile,atadbitgummyifanything,butotherwiselovely.
OfficerBergunzipshisrainjacketandreachesinside.Heremoveshistabletfromaninteriorpocket,wherethereitstaysdry.Hetapsonthescreen,trawlingforsomething.Whenhefindsthespot,heclearshisthroatandreadsmywordsbacktome.
“Yesterdayyousaid,Ijustneverfoundthetimetostopbyandintroducemyself.Doyouremembersayingthat?”heasks,andItellhimIdo,thoughitsoundssoflippantnow,mywordscomingbacktomethisway.Abitmerciless,ifI’mbeinghonest,seeingasthewomanisnowdead.Ishouldhavetackedonanempatheticaddendum,suchas,ButIwishIhad.Justalittlesomethingsothatmywordsdidn’tsoundsocallous.
“Thethingis,Dr.Foust,”hebegins,“yousaidyoudidn’tknowMrs.Baines,andyetitseemsyoudid,”andthoughhistoneiswell-disposed,theintentofhiswordsisnot.
He’sjustaccusedmeoflying.
“Ibegyourpardon?”Iask,takencompletelyaback.
“ItseemsyoudidknowMorganBaines,”hesays.
Therainiscomingdownintorrentsnow,poundingontheroofofthecarlikemalletsontincans.IthinkofOttoallaloneontheupperdeckoftheferry,gettingpeltedwithrain.Aknotformsinmythroatbecauseofit.Iswallowitaway.
Iforcemywindowuptokeeptherainatbay.
Imakesuretomeettheofficer’seyeasIassert,“Unlessaonetimewaveoutthewindowofamovingvehiclecountsasarelationship,OfficerBerg,Ididn’tknowMorganBaines.WhatmakesyouthinkthatIdid?”Iask,andheexplainsagain,atgreatlengththistime,howhecanvassedtheentirestreet,spoketoalltheneighbors,askedthemthesamequestionsheaskedWillandme.WhenhecametothehomeofGeorgeandPoppyNilsson,theyinvitedhimintotheirkitchenforteaandgingercookies.HetellsmethatheaskedtheNilssonswhattheyweredoingthenightMorgandied,sameashedidWillandme.Iwaittoheartheirreply,thinkingOfficerBergisabouttotellmehowtheoldercouplesatintheirlivingroomthatnight,watchingoutthewindowasakillerslippedfromthecoverofdarknessandintotheBaineses’home.
Butinsteadhesays,“Asyoucanexpect,ateighty-someyearsold,GeorgeandPoppywereasleep,”andIreleasemywithheldbreath.TheNilssonsdidn’tseeathing.
“Idon’tunderstand,Officer,”Isay,glancingatthetimeonthecar’sdash,knowingI’llneedtoleavesoon.“IftheNilssonswereasleep,then…what?”
Becauseclearlyiftheywereasleep,thentheysawandheardnothing.
“IalsoaskedtheNilssonsifthey’dseenanythingoutoftheordinaryoverthelastfewdays.Strangerslurkingabout,unfamiliarcarsparkedalongthestreet.”
“Yes,yes,”Isay,noddingmyheadquicklybecausehealsoaskedthisquestionofWillandme.“And?”Iask,tryingtohurrythingsalongsothatIcangetontowork.
“Well,itjustsohappensthattheydidseesomethingoutoftheordinary.Somethingtheyhaven’tseenbefore.Whichissayingalot,seeingasthey’velivedhalftheirlivesonthatstreet.”AndthenhetapsawayatthattabletscreentofindhisinterviewwithMr.andMrs.Nilsson.
Hegoesontodescribeformeanafternoonjustlastweek.ItwasFriday,thefirstofDecember.Itwasaclearday,theskypaintedblue,notacloudtobeseen.Thetemperatureswerecool,crisp,butnothingaheavysweateroralightjacketwouldn’tfix.GeorgeandPoppyhadgoneforanafternoonwalk,OfficerBergsays,andwereheadedbackupthesteepinclineofourstreet.Oncetheyreachedthetop,Georgestoppedtocatchhisbreath,pausingbeforetheBaineses’home.
OfficerBerggoesontotellmehowthereMr.NilssonrearrangedtheblanketonPoppy’slapsothatshedidn’tcatchadraft.Ashedid,somethingcaughthisattention.Itwasthesoundofwomenholleringatoneanother,thoughwhattheywereholleringabouthewasn’tsure.
“Oh,howawful,”Isay,andhesaysitwasbecausepoorGeorgewasreallyshakenupaboutit.He’dneverheardanythinglikethatbefore.Andthat’ssayingalotforamanhisage.
“Butwhatdoesthishavetodowithme?”Iask,andhereachesagainforthetablet.
“GeorgeandPoppystayedthereinthestreetforamomentonly,butthat’sallittookbeforethewomensteppedoutfromtheshadeofatreeandintoviewandGeorgecouldseeforhimselfwhotheywere.”
“Who?”Iask,slightlybreathless,andhewaitsabeatbeforehereplies.
“ItwasMrs.Baines,”hesays,“andyou.”
Andthen,fromsomerecordingapponhisdevice,heplaysformethetestimonialofMr.Nilsson,whichstates,“Shewasfightingwiththenewdoctorladyonthestreet.Thebothofthemwerehootingandhollering,madasahornet.BeforeIcouldintercede,thedoctorladygrabbedahandfulofMs.Morgan’shairrightoutofherheadandleftwithitinherfist.PoppyandIturnedandwalkedquicklyhome.Didn’twanthertothinkweweresnoopingorshemightdothesamethingtous.”
OfficerBergstopsitthereandturnstome,asking,“Doesthissoundtoyoulikeanaltercationbetweentwowomenwho’dnevermet?”
ButI’mspeechless.
Ican’treply.
WhywouldGeorgeNilssonsaysuchanawfulthingaboutme?
OfficerBergdoesn’tgivemeachancetospeak.Hegoesonwithoutme.
Heasks,“Isitoften,Dr.Foust,thatyouswipehandfulsofhairfromwomenyoudon’tknow?”
Theanswer,ofcourse,isno.ThoughstillIcan’tfindmyvoicetospeak.
Hedecides,“I’lltakeyoursilenceasano.”
Hishandfallstothedoorandhepushesitopenagainsttheweightofthewind.“I’llleaveyoutoit,”hesays,“sothatyoucangetonwithyourday.”
“IneverspoketoMorganBaines”iswhatImanagetosayjustthenbeforeheleaves,thoughthewordsthatemergearelimp.
Heshrugs.“Allright,then,”hesays,steppingbackoutintotherain.
Heneversaidifhebelievedme.
Hedidn’tneedto.
MOUSE
OnceuponatimetherewasagirlnamedMouse.Itwasn’therrealname,butforaslongasthegirlcouldremember,herfatherhadcalledherthat.
Thegirldidn’tknowwhyherfathercalledherMouse.Shedidn’task.Sheworriedthatifshebroughtattentiontoit,hemightstopusingthenickname,andshedidn’twanthimtodothat.ThegirllikedthatherfathercalledherMouse,becauseitwassomethingspecialbetweenherfatherandher,evenifshedidn’tknowwhy.
Mousespentalotoftimethinkingaboutit.Shehadideasaboutwhyherfathercalledherbythatnickname.Forone,shehadasoftspotforcheese.Sometimes,whenshepulledstrandsofmozzarellafromherstringcheeseandlaidthemonhertonguetoeat,shethoughtthatmaybethatwasthereasonhecalledherMouse,becauseofhowmuchshelikedcheese.
Shewonderedifherfatherthoughtshelookedlikeamouse.If,maybe,therewerewhiskersthatgrewalongherupperlip,onessosmallevenshecouldn’tseethem,thoughherfathercouldsomehowseethem.Mousewouldgotothebathroom,climbuponthesink,pressincloselytothemirrorsoshecouldsearchforwhiskers.Sheevenbroughtamagnifyingglassalongwithheronce,helditbetweenherlipandherreflection,butshedidn’tseeanywhiskersthere.
Maybe,shedecided,ithadnothingtodowithwhiskers,butsomethingtodowithherbrownhair,herbigears,herbigteeth.
ButMousewasn’tsure.Sometimesshethoughtithadtodowiththewayshelooked,andthenothertimesshethoughtithadnothingtodowiththewayshelooked,butwassomethingelseinstead,liketheSalernoButterCookiessheandherfatherateafterdinnersometimes.MaybeitwasbecauseofthosecookiesthathecalledherMouse.
MouselovedherSalernoButterCookiesmorethananyotherkindofcookie,evenmorethanhomemade.She’dstackthemuponherpinkie,slideherfingerthroughthecenterhole,gnawherwaydownthesideofthestackjustlikeamousegnawingitswaythroughwood.
Mouseatehercookiesatthedinnertable.Butonenight,whenherfatherhadhisbackturned,takingthedishestothesinktowash,sheslippedanextrafewinherpocketsforalate-nightsnack,incasesheorherteddybeargothungry.
Mouseexcusedherselffromthetable,triedsneakinguptoherbedroomwiththecookiesinherpockets,thoughsheknewthatcrammedthereinherpockets,thecookieswouldquicklyturntocrumbs.ToMouse,itdidn’tmatter.Thecrumbswouldtastejustasgoodasthecookiehad.
Butherfathercaughtherred-handedtryingtomakeoffwiththecookies.Hedidn’tscoldher.Hehardlyeverscoldedher.Therewasn’taneedforMousetobescolded.Insteadheteasedherforhoardingfood,storingitsomewhereinthatbedroomofherslikemicestorefoodinthewallsofpeople’shomes.
ButsomehowMousedidn’tthinkthatwaswhyhecalledherMouse.
Becausebythen,shealreadywasMouse.
Mousehadavividimagination.Shelovedtomakestoriesup.Sheneverwrotethemdownonpaper,butputtheminherheadwherenooneelsecouldsee.Inherstories,therewasagirlnamedMousewhocoulddoanythingshewantedto,evencartwheelsonthemoonifthatwaswhatshewantedtodobecauseMousedidn’tneedsillythingslikeoxygenorgravity.Shewasafraidofnothingbecauseshewasimmortal.Nomatterwhatshedid,noharmcouldcometoimaginaryMouse.
Mouselovedtodraw.Herbedroomwallswerecoveredinpicturesofherfatherandher,herandherteddybears.Mousespentherdaysplayingpretend.Herbedroom,theonlyoneonthesecondflooroftheoldhome,wasfullofdolls,toysandstuffedanimals.Eachanimalhadaname.HerfavoritewasastuffedbrownbearnamedMr.Bear.Mousehadadollhouse,atoykitchensetwithpretendpotsandpansandcratesofplasticfood.Shehadateaset.Mouselovedtosetherdollsandanimalsinacircleonherfloor,ontheedgeofherstripedragrug,andservethemeachatinymugofteaandaplasticdoughnut.Shewouldfindabookonhershelfandreaditaloudtoherfriendsbeforetuckingthemintobed.
ButsometimesMousedidn’tplaywithheranimalsanddolls.
Sometimesshestoodonherbedandpretendedtheflooraroundherwashotlavaoozingfromthevolcanoattheotherendoftheroom.Shecouldn’tsteponthefloorforriskofdeath.Thosedays,Mousewouldscramblefromherbedtoadesk,climbingtosafety.She’dtreadprecariouslyacrossthetopofthesmallwhitedesk—thelegsofitwobblingbeneathher,threateningtobreak.Mousewasn’tabiggirlbutthedeskwasold,fragile.Itwasn’tmeanttoholdasix-year-oldchild.
Butitdidn’tmatterbecausesoonenoughMousewasclamberingintoalaundrybasketfullofdirtyclothesonthebedroomfloor.Asshedid,shetookextracarenottosteponthefloor,breathingasighofreliefwhenshewassafelyinsidethebasket.Becauseeventhoughthebasketwasonthefloor,itwassafe.Thebasketcouldn’tgetswallowedupbylava,becauseitwasmadeoftitanium,andMouseknewthattitaniumwouldn’tmelt.Shewasasmartgirl,smarterthananyothergirlheragethatsheknew.
Insidethelaundrybasket,thegirlrodethewavesofthevolcanountilthelavaitselfcooledandcrustedover,andthelandwassafeenoughtowalkonagain.OnlythendidsheventureoutofthebasketandgobacktoplayingalongtheedgeoftheragrugwithMr.Bearandherdolls.
SometimesMousethoughtthatthat,hertendencytodisappeartoherbedroom—quietasachurchmouse,asherfatherputit—andplayallday,wasthereasonhecalledherMouse.
Itwashardtosay.
Butonethingwascertain.
MouselovedthatnameuntilthedayFakeMomarrived.Andthenshenolongerdid
SADIE
I’msittingonthefloorinthelobbyoftheclinic.Beforemeisanactivitytable,thekindmeanttokeepkidsentertainedwhiletheywait.Thedarkcarpetbeneathmeisthinandcheap.It’sunravelinginspots,withstainsthatblendintothenylonsoyouwouldn’tseethemunlessyouwereasclosetoitasIam.
I’mcross-leggedonthefloor,sittingonthesideoftheactivitytablethatfacesashapesorter.Iwatchonasmyhanddropsaheart-shapedblockintotheappropriateopening.
There’sagirlontheothersideofthetable.Atfirstglance,shelookstobeaboutfouryearsold.Shewearsapairofcrookedpigtails.Strandsofblondhairhavecomeloosefromtheelastics.Theyfalltoherface,hangintohereyeswheresheleavesthembe,notbotheringtoshovethemaway.Hersweatshirtisred.Hershoesdon’tmatch.OneisablackpatentleatherMaryJaneandtheotherablackballetflat.Aneasyenoughmistaketomake.
Myownlegshavebeguntoache.Iunknotthem,findadifferentpositiontositin,onebettersuitedforathirty-nine-year-oldwoman.Thewaitingroomchaircatchesmyeye,butIcan’trisefromthefloorandleave,notyet,becausethelittlegirlacrossthetableiswatchingmeexpectantly.
“Go,”shesays,grinningoddly,andIask,“Gowhere?”thoughmyvoiceisstrangledwhenIspeak.Iclearmythroat,tryagain.
“Gowhere?”Iask,thistimesoundingmorelikemyself.
Onthefloor,mybodyisstiff.Mylegshurt.Myheadhurts.I’mhot.Ididn’tcatchawinkofsleeplastnightandampayingforittoday.I’mtiredanddisoriented.Thismorning’sconversationwithOfficerBerghasrattledmynerves,madeabaddayevenworse.
“Go,”thegirlsaysagain.WhenIstareather,doingnothing,shesays,“It’syourturn,”pronouncingnoneofther’s,butturningthemtow’sinstead.
“Myturn?”Iask,takenaback,andshesaystome,“Yeah.You’rethered,remember?”Exceptshedoesn’tsayred.ShesayswedWed,wemember?
Ishakemyhead.ImustnothavebeenpayingattentionbecauseIdon’tremember.BecauseIdon’tknowwhatshe’stalkingaboutuntilshepointsitoutforme,theredbeadsatthetopoftheroller-coastertable,theonesthatgoupanddowntheredwirehills,aroundtheredcorkscrewturns.
“Oh,”Isay,reachingouttotouchtheredwoodenbeadsbeforeme.“Okay.WhatshouldIdowiththered?”Iaskthegirl,hernoseoozingsnot,eyesabitglazedoverasiffebrile,andIdon’thavetothinkhardtoknowwhyshe’shere.She’smypatient.She’scometoseeme.Shecoughshard,forgettingtocoverhermouth.Thelittleonesalwaysdo
“Youdoitlikethis,”shesaysasshetakesherdirty,germyhandandgraspsatrainofyellowbeadswithit,drivingthebeadsovertheyellowhillandaroundtheyellowcorkscrewturns.
“Youdoitlikethat,”shesayswhenthebeadsfinallyreachtheotherendandsheletsgoofthem.Herhandsfalltoherhipsasshestaresatme,againexpectantly.
IsmileatthegirlasIstarttomovetheredbeads.
Butbeforethey’vegonefar,Ihear“Dr.Foust”hissedatmefrombehind.It’sawoman’svoice,clearlyannoyed.“Whatareyoudoingdownthere,Dr.Foust?”
IturntoseeJoycestandingbehindme.Herpostureisstraight,herexpressionfirm.Shetellsmethatmyeleveno’clockappointmentishere,waitingformeinexamroomthree.Iriseslowlytostanding,shakeoutmystifflegs.IhavenoideawhyIthoughtitwouldbeagoodideatogetdownonthegroundandplaywiththelittlegirl.ItellherIhavetogetbacktowork.Isaythatmaybewecanplayagainlaterandshesmilesshylyatme.Shewasn’tshybeforebutshe’sshynow.She’schanged,andIthinkithassomethingtodowithmyheight.NowthatI’mstanding,I’mnolongerthreefeettalllikeher.I’mdifferent.
Sherushestohermama’sside,wrapsherarmsaroundhermother’sknees.
Isaytohermother,“Whatasweetgirl,”andhermotherthanksmeforplayingwithher.
Aroundme,thewaitingroomiscrawlingwithpatients.IfollowJoycethroughthelobbydoorsanddownthehall.Butoncethere,Iheadtheotherwayfromtheexamroom,goingtothekitcheninstead,whereIhelpmyselftoasipofwaterfromthewatercooler,takingamomenttocatchmybreath.I’mtired.I’mhungry.Myheadstillhurts.
Joycefollowsmeintothekitchen.Shegivesmethislook,likeIhavesomenervetodrinkwateratatimelikethis,whenwehaveapatientwaiting.Icanseeitinhereyeseverytimeshelooksatme:Joycedoesn’tlikeme.Idon’tknowwhyJoycedoesn’tlikeme.There’snothingI’vedonethatwouldmakehernotlikeme.ItellmyselfithasnothingtodowithwhathappenedbackinChicago,thatthere’snowayshecanknowaboutthat.No,thatstayedthere,becauseIresigned.Itwastheonlywayaclaimofnegligencedidn’tendmymedicalcareer.ButwhetherI’dpracticeemergencymedicineagain,Ididn’tknow.Itwasablotonmyconfidence,ifnotmyrésumé.
ItellJoycethatI’llberightthere,butshestandswatchingintealbluescrubsandnursingclogs,withherhandsonherhips.Shepouts,andonlythendoItakenoteoftheclockonthewallbehindherwhererednumbersinformmethatit’sonefifteenintheafternoon.
“Oh,”Isay,thoughthatcan’tbe.Icouldn’tpossiblyhavefallenthatfarbehindschedule.Mybedsidemannerisdecentenough—I’vebeenknowntogoonatadtoolongwithpatients—butnotlikethis.
Iglancedownatmywatch,surethatit’sslow,thatmywatchistoblameformyfallingbehindschedule.Butthetimeonmywatchmirrorsthetimeontheclock.
Ifeelafrustrationstarttowellinsideofme.Emmahasmistakenlyscheduledtoomanypatientsinnotenoughtime,sothatI’llspendtherestofthedayscramblingtocatchupandwe’llpayforit,thewholelotofus,Joyce,Emma,thepatientsandme.Butmainlyme.
It’sashortdrivehome.Theentiretyoftheislandisonlyaboutamilebyamileandahalfwide—whichmeansthatonabaddaysuchasthis,Idon’thavetimetodecompressbeforeIarrivehome.Idriveslowly,takingmytime,needinganextralaparoundtheblocktocatchmybreathbeforeIpullintomyowndriveway.
Thisfarnorthintheworld,nightfallsearly.Thesunbeginstosetatjustpastfouro’clock,leavinguswithonlyninehoursofdaylightthistimeofyear,therestofthedayvariousshadesoftwilightanddark.Theskyisdarknow.
Idon’tknowmostofmyneighbors.SomeI’veseeninpassing,butmostI’veneverseenbecauseit’slatefall,earlywinter,thetimeofyearpeoplehaveatendencytohideindoors.Thehomenextdoortooursisasummerpropertyonly,someone’ssecondhome.It’sunoccupiedthistimeofyear.Theowners—Willlearnedandtoldtome—movetothemainlandassoonasfallcomes,leavingtheirhomeabandonedforOldManWinter.Whichmakesmethinknowthatahomelikethatcouldbevulnerabletobreak-ins,makingforaneasyplaceforakillertohide
AsIgobyit,thehouseisdarkasitalwaysisuntiljustafterseveno’clockwhenalightflickson.Thelightissetonatimer.Itgoesoffnearmidnight.Thetimerismeanttoserveasadeterrentforburglarsandyetsopredictable,it’snot.
Igoon.Ibypassmyownhomeandheadupthehill.TheBaineses’houseisdarkasIdrivepast.Acrossthestreet,atthehomeoftheNilssons,alightison,thesoftglowofitjustbarelybreakingthroughtheperipheryoftheheavydrapes.Ipausebeforethehome,caridling,myeyessetonthepicturewindowinfront.There’sacarinthedrive,Mr.Nilsson’srustysedan.Puffsofsmokespewfromthechimneyandintothewinternight.Someoneishome.
Ihavehalfamindtopullintothedrive,parkthecar,knockonthefrontdoorandaskaboutwhatOfficerBergtoldme.HowMr.NilssonclaimedhesawmearguingwithMorganinthedaysbeforeshedied.
ButIalsohaveenoughself-awarenesstoknowthatifIdo,itmightcomeoffasbrash—threateningeven—andthat’snotthemessageIwanttosend.
Imakemywayaroundtheblockbeforegoinghome.
Momentslater,Istandaloneinthekitchen,peekingbeneaththelidofaskillettoseewhatWill’scookingtonight.Porkchops.Itsmellsdivine.
Istand,withmyshoesstillonmyfeet,abagslungacrossme.Thebagisheavy.Thestrapburrowsdeeplyintomyskin,thoughIhardlyfeeltheweightofitbecauseit’smystomachthathurtsthemost.I’mhungry,completelyfamished,mydaygettingawayfrommesothatIneverhadtimeforlunch.
Withoutaword,Willslipssilentlyintothekitchenandcurlsupbehindme.Henestleshischinontomyshoulder.Heslipshiswarmhandsbeneaththewaistlineofmyshirt,wrappingthemaroundme.Asinglethumbsweepsupanddownmynavel,strummingmelikeaguitar.IfeelmyselftenseupatWill’stouch.“Howwasyourday?”heasks.
IthinkbacktothedayswhenWill’sarmsaroundmemademefeelsafe,invulnerableandloved.Foramoment,Iwantnothingmorethantoturnandfacehim,tounloadaboutthedrearyworkday;therun-inwithOfficerBerg.IknowjustexactlywhatwouldhappenifIdid.Willwouldstrokemyhairbeforeliftingtheheavyworkbagfrommyshoulderandsettingittotheground.He’dsaysomethingempathetic,likeThatsoundsrough,ashepouredmeaglassofwine.Hewouldn’tattempttofixthingsformeasothermenmightdo.Instead,he’dleadmetothesinglespindle-backchairpressedagainstakitchenwallandhandmethewine.He’ddroptothekitchenfloorbeforemeandremovemyshoes,massagemyfeet.Andhe’dlisten.
ButIdon’ttellWillaboutmydaybecauseIcan’t.Becausethereonthecountertopsitshistruecrimenovel,andinaninstant,lastnightcomestumblingbacktomealloveragain.FromwhereIstand,IseetheedgeofErin’sphotographjuttingoutfromthepagesofthebook,justacoupleofmillimetersofbluetrim,andeventhoughIcan’tseeit,Istillimaginetheblueeyes,blondhair,roundedshoulders.Thewillowywomanwhostandswithherhandsonherhips,poutingatthecamera,baitingwhoever’sontheothersideofit.
“What’swrong?”Willasks,andthoughIhesitate—thinkingImightjustsaynothingandleavetheroom,tooexhaustedforthisconversationrightnow,Isay,“Istartedreadingyourbooklastnight.WhenIcouldn’tsleep,”motioningtoitthereonthecountertop.
Willdoesn’tpickuptheinnuendo.Hedrawsawayfrommeandbeginstendingtodinnerwhileasking,“Ohyeah?Whatdoyouthinkofitsofar?”withhissidenowturnedtowardme.
“Well,”Isay,hesitating.“Ididn’tactuallyhaveachancetoreadit.IopeneditupandErin’spicturefellout,”feelingshamefacedforadmittingthis,asifI’vedonesomethingwrong.
Onlythendoesheputthetongsdownandturntome.
“Sadie,”hesays,reachingforme,andIsay,“It’sfine,reallyitis,”tryingmyhardesttobediplomaticbecause,forheaven’ssake,Erinisdead.Ican’tbeoutwardlyangryorjealousthatWill’sbeencarryingherphotographaroundafterallthistime.Thatjustwouldn’tfeelright.Besides,there’snoreasonformetobeconcerned.I,too,hadahighschoolsweetheartonce.Webrokeupwhenhewentofftocollege.Hedidn’tdie,butweseveredtiesjustthesame.Ineverthinkofhim.IfIweretopasshimonthestreet,Iwouldn’tknow.
Willmarriedme,Iremindmyself.Hehaschildrenwithme
Ilookdownatmyhand.Itdoesn’tmatterthattheringIwearoncebelongedtoher.Asafamilyheirloom,Will’smotherrefusedtoletErinbeburiedwithit.Hewashonestwhenhegaveittome.Hecameclean,toldmewhattheringhadbeenthroughandwhereithadbeen.Ipromised,atthetime,toweartheringinbothhisgrandmother’sandinErin’shonor.
“It’sjust,”Isay,staringatthebookasifIcanseestraightthroughthecovertowhat’sinside,“Ineverknewyoucarriedherpicturearoundwithyou.Thatyoustillthoughtabouther.”
“Idon’t.Ididn’t.Listen,”hesays,reachingformyhands.Idon’tpullback,thoughthat’sexactlywhatIwanttodo.Iwanttobehurt.Iamhurt.ButItrytobecompassionate.“Yes,Ihaveaphotographofherstill.IcameacrossitinsomeofmystuffwhenIwasunpacking.Ididn’tknowwhattodowithit,soIstuckitinthebook.Butit’snotwhatyouthink.It’sjustthat,Irealizedrecentlythatitwillbetwentyyearsnextmonth.TwentyyearssinceErindied.That’sall.Idon’tthinkabouther,hardlyever,Sadie.Butitgotmethinking,andnotinamournfulway.Moreinaholyshit,twentyyearssortofway.”Hepauses,runshishandsthroughhishair,thinkshisnextwordsthroughbeforehespeaks.
“Twentyyearsago,Iwasadifferentman.Iwasn’tevenaman,”hesays.“Iwasaboy.TheoddsthatErinandIwouldhaveactuallygonethroughwithitandgottenmarriedaren’tgreat.Soonerorlaterwewouldhaverealizedhowdumbwewere.Hownaive.Whatwehadwasjustyounglovebetweentwostupidkids.WhatyouandIhave,”hesays,tappingmychestandthenhisinturn,andIhavetolookawaybecausehisstareissointenseitgetsinsideofme.“This,Sadie.Thisismarriage.”
Andthenhedrawsmeinandwrapshisarmsaroundmeand,forjustthisonce,Ilethim.
Hepresseshislipstomyearandwhispers,“Whetheryoubelievemeornot,therearetimesIthankGodithappenedthiswaybecauseifitdidn’t,Imighthavenevermetyou.”
There’snothingtosaytothat.It’snotasifI,too,cansaythatI’mgladshe’sdead.Whatkindofpersonwouldthatmakeme?
Afteraminute,Ipullback.Willgoesbacktothestove.Hereachesforthetongs,flipsovertheporkchopsinthefryingpan.ItellhimthatI’mrunningupstairstochange.
Inthelivingroom,TatesitsplayingwithLegosonthenicked-upcoffeetable.Isayhelloandherisesfromthefloorandsqueezesmetight,callingout,“Mommy’shome!”Heasksmetoplaywithhim,andIpromise,“Afterdinner.Mommy’sgoingtogochange.”
ButbeforeIcango,hepullsonmyhand,callingout,“Statuegame,statuegame.”
Idon’tknowwhathemeansbythis,statuegame.ButI’mtootiredforhimtobepullingonme.Hedoesn’tmeanforittobe,buthistuggingisrough.Ithurtsmyhand.
“Tate,”Isay,“begentle,”asIwithdrawmyhandfromhisandseehimpout.
“Iwanttoplaythestatuegame,”hewhines,butinsteadIsay,“We’lldoLegos.Afterdinner.Ipromise,”seeingthecastlehe’salreadybeguntocreate,completewithatowerandgatehouse.It’simpressive.Aminifiguresitsatthetopofthetower,keepingwatchovertheland,whilethreemorefiguresstandonthecoffeetable,readytoattack.
“Youdidthatallbyyourself?”Iask,andTatetellsmehedid,beamingproudlyasIdisappearupthestairstochange.
It’sdiminthehouse.Asidefromtheshortageofwindowsand,therefore,ascarcityofnaturallighting,thehouseiscoatedwithadatedwoodenpaneling,whichmakeseverythingdark.Gloomy.Itdoesnothingtobolsterourmoods,especiallyondayslikethis,whicharedepressingenoughasis.
Upstairs,IfindOtto’sbedroomdoorpulledto.He’sthere,inside,ashealwaysis,listeningtomusicanddoinghomework.Iraponthedoorandcalloutaquickhello.Hesaysback,“Hi.”IwonderhowOtto’scommutewastoschool,ifheworewetclothesalldayfromtherain-drenchedferryridetotheschoolbuswaitingontheotherside,ifhesatwithanyoneatlunch.Icouldaskhim,butthetruthisI’drathernotknowtheanswer.Astheysay,ignoranceisbliss.
Imogen’sdoorisopenasmidge.Ipeekin,butshe’snotthere.
IheadtoWill’sandmybedroom.ThereIstareatmytiredreflectioninthefloor-lengthmirror,thewearyeyes,thepoplinshirt,theskirt.Mymakeuphasnearlywornaway.Myskiniswashedout,moregraythananythingelse,ormaybeit’sjustthelighting.Crow’s-feetsneakfromtheedgesofmyeyes.Mylaughlinesbecomemoreprominenteachday.Thejoysofaging.
I’mpleasedtoseemyhairstartingtogrowbacktoitsusuallengthafteranimpulsivechop,oneofthoseregrettablehaircutsIhated.AllI’devergottenwerethedeadendstrimmed.Butthenonedaymylongtimestylistwentandshearedofffourinchesormore.Istaredatheraghastwhenshewasthrough,eyeingtheclumpsofhaironhersalonfloor.
What?she’dasked,aswide-eyedasme.That’swhatyousaidyouwanted,Sadie.
Itoldheritwasfine.It’shair.Itgrowsback.
Ididn’twanthertofeelbadforwhatshe’ddone.Anditisonlyhair.Itdoesgrowback.
Butifwehadn’tmovedwhenwedid,Iwouldhavebeenonthehuntforanewstylist.
Iyankthehighheelsfrommyfeetandstareattheblistersonmyskin.Istepfrommyskirt,tossingitintothelaundrybasket.Aftersinkingmyfeetintoapairofwarmsocks,mylegsintoapairofcomfypajamapants,Iheadbackdownstairs,checkingthethermostatonthewaydown.Thisoldhomeiseithericycoldorburninghot,butneveranythinginbetween.Thefurnacecannolongerdistributeheatproperly.Iturntheheatupanotch.
WillisstillinthekitchenwhenIarrive,puttingawaytherestofthedinnerprep.Heslipstheflourandcornstarchinacabinet,setsthedirtyskilletinthesink.
Hecallstheboysfordinner.Momentslater,wesitatthekitchentabletoeat.Willhasservedtheporkchopswithasideofspinachcouscoustonight,hisculinaryskillseasilytrumpingmine.
“Where’sImogen?”Iask,andWilltellsmeshe’swithafriend,studyingforaSpanishquiz.She’llbehomebyseven.Irollmyeyes,mutter,“Don’tholdyourbreath.”BecauseImogenrarely,ifever,doesasshesays.Onlysometimesdoessheeatdinnerwithus.Whenshedoes,shesauntersintothekitchenfiveminuteslaterthantherestofusbecauseshecan.Becausewe’renotgoingtonagheraboutit.SheknowsthatifshewantstoeatthedinnerWill’smade,sheeatswithus,orshedoesn’teatatall.Thoughstill,whenshedoeseatwithus,shecomeslateandleavesearlytoexerciseherautonomy.
Tonight,however,she’sano-show,andIwonderifshe’sreallystudyingwithafriend,orifshe’sdoingsomethingelse,likehangingoutattheabandonedmilitaryfortificationatthefarendoftheislandwherekidshavebeenrumoredtodrink,dodrugs,havesex.
Iputitoutofmymindfornow.InsteadIaskOttoabouthisday.Heshrugsandsays,“Okay,Iguess.”
Willasks,“Howwasthesciencetest?”inquiringaboutthingslikestaticandkineticfriction,andaskinghim,“Didyourememberwhattheymean?”
Ottosayshedid,hethinks.Willreachesover,ruffleshishairandsays,“Attaboy.Thestudyinghelped.”IwatchasadarkthatchofhairfallsintoOtto’seyes.Hishairhasgrowntoolongsothatit’sshaggyandunkempt.Ithideshiseyes.Otto’seyesarehazellikeWill’s,andcanturnonadimefromawarmbrowntoaskyblue,thoughIcan’tseewhichtonight.
DinnerconversationconsistsmostlyofTate’sdayatschool,thoughhalftheclasswasapparentlyabsentbecausehalfoftheparentshavethegoodsensenottosendtheirchildrentoschoolwhenthereisamurdererontheloose.ThoughTatedoesn’tknowthis.
IwatchasOtto,acrossfromme,slicesthroughtheporkchopwithasteakknife.There’sacrudenessaboutthewayheholdstheknife,aboutthewayhecutshismeatwithit.Theporkissucculent.It’scookedtoperfection;myownknifeslicesrightthrough.Butstill,Ottogoesafterhisfulltilt,asifit’sovercooked,toughandrubbery,nearlyimpossibletogetthroughwiththeserratedknifeedge,whichit’snot.
There’ssomethingabouttheknifeinhishandthatmakesmelosemyappetite.
“Aren’tyouhungry?”Willasks,seeingthatI’mnoteating.Idon’tanswerhisquestion.Ireachformyforkinstead.Isetabiteofporkinmymouth.Thememoriescomerushingbacktome,andIfindthatIcanhardlychew.
ButstillIdochewbecauseWilliswatchingme,asisTate.Tate,whodoesn’tlikeporkchops,thoughwehaveathree-biteruleinourhome.Threebitesandthenyoucanbethrough.He’sonlyhadone.
ButOtto,ontheotherhand,eatsvoraciously,sawingthroughthemeatlikealumberjackwithalog.
I’dneverthoughtmuchaboutknivesbefore.Theywerejustpartoftheflatware.NotuntilthedayWillandIwalkedintotheprincipal’sofficeatOtto’spublichighschoolinChicagoandtherehesatinachair,backtous,handcuffsonhiswrists.Itwasalarmingtosee,mysonwithhishandsboundbehindhimlikeacommoncriminal.Willhadreceivedacallfromtheprincipalthattherewasaproblematschool,somethingweneededtodiscuss.IcutshortmyshiftintheER.AsIdrovetotheschoolalonewithplanstomeetWillthere,mymindwenttoafailinggrade,ortheoverlookedsignsofalearningdisabilitywedidn’tyetknowabout.PerhapsOttowasdyslexic.TheideaofOttostrugglingwithsomething,withanything,saddenedme.Iwantedtohelp.
Iwalkedstraightpastthepolicecruiserparkedoutside.Ididn’tthinkanythingofit.
Butthen,atthesightofOttothereinthechairinhandcuffs,themamabearinmerearedupatonce.Idon’tthinkI’veeverbeensoangryinmyentirelifeTakethoseoffofhimthisminute,Idemanded.Youhavenoright,Isaid,butwhetherthepoliceofficerdidordidn’t,Ididn’tknow.HestoodjustfeetshyofOtto,lookingdownontheboywhoseeyessatgluedtothefloor,headslumpedforward,armsawkwardlytetheredtogetherbehindhimsothathecouldn’tsitallthewayback.Ottolookedsosmallinthechair.Helplessandfrail.Atfourteen,hehadyettoexperiencethesamegrowthspurtthatotherboyshisagealreadyhad.Hestoodaheadshorterthanmostofthem,andtwiceasthin.ThoughWillandIwererighttherewithhim,hewasalone.Completelyalone.Anyonecouldseethat.Itmademyheartbreakforhim.
Theschoolprincipalsatontheothersideofalargedesk,lookinggrim.
Mr.andMrs.Foust,hesaid,risingtohisfeetandextendingahandingreeting,ahandwhichWillandIbothignored.
Doctor,Iamended.Thepoliceofficersmirked.
Theevidencebagonthecorneroftheprincipal’sdesk,Isoonlearned,containedaknife.Andnotjustanyknife,butaneight-inchchef’sknifefromWill’sprizedset,stolenthatmorningfromtheblockofthemthatsatonthecornerofthekitchencounter.
TheprincipalexplainedtoWillandmethatOttobroughttheknifetoschool,hiddeninhisbackpack.Fortunately,theprincipalsaid,oneofthestudentssawandhadthegoodsensetoinformateacherandthelocalpolicewerecalledintoapprehendOttobeforeanydamagecouldbedone.
Astheprincipalspoke,Icouldthinkonlyonething.HowhumiliatingitwouldhavebeenforOttotobehandcuffedinfrontofhispeers.Toberemovedfromhisclassroombythelocalpolice.BecauseneveroncedidIthinkitwaspossiblethatOttobroughtaknifetoschoolorthathethreatenedchildrenwithit.Thiswasamistakeonly.AhorriblemistakeforwhichWillandIwouldseekretributionforoursonandhismarredreputation.
Ottowasquiet,kind.Notostentatiouslyhappy,buthappy.Hehadfriends,ahandfulonly,butfriendsnonetheless.Hewasalwaysveryrule-abiding,neveroncegettingintotroubleatschool.Therehadneverbeenadetention,anotesenthome,aphonecallwithateacher.Therewasnoneedforanyofthesethings.Andso,Ieasilyreasoned,therewasnowayOttohaddonesomethingasdelinquentasbringaknifetoschool.
Uponcloserexaminationoftheknifeitself,Willrecognizeditashisown.Hetriedtodownplaythesituation—It’sapopularknifeset.Ibetmanypeoplehaveit—andyetnoonecoulddisputethelookofrecognitionthatcrossedhisface,thelookofshockandhorror.
Thereintheprincipal’soffice,Ottobegantocry.
Whatdidyouthinkyouweredoing?Willaskedhimgently,ahandonOtto’sshoulder,massagingit.You’rebetterthanthat,buddy,hesaid.You’resmarterthanthat.
Bythen,theywerebothcrying.Iwastheonlyonewhoseeyesremaineddry.
Ottoconfessedtoustheninnotquitesomanywords,hisvoicehardtohearattimesthroughthegaspingsobs,that,thepreviousspring,he’dbecomethetargetofteenagebullying.Hethoughtitwouldgoawayonitsown,butthesituationhadonlybecomemoreexacerbatedwhenhereturnedtoschoolthatAugust.
WhatOttotolduswasthatsomeofthemorepopularboysinschoolclaimedhewasmakingeyesatanotherkidinhisclass.Aboy.Rumorscirculatedquickly,andbeforelong,notadaywentbythatOttowasn’tcalledahomo,aqueer,afairy,afag.Stupidfaggot,they’dsay.Die,faggot,die.
Ottowentonandon,ramblingofftheepithetshisclassmatesused.OnlywhenOttopausedforbreathdidtheprincipalaskwho,specifically,saidthesethings,andwhethertherewerewitnessestoOtto’sclaimsorifthiswassimplyamatterofhesaid,shesaid,sotospeak.
Therewastheclearsensethattheprincipaldidn’tbelievehim.
Ottowenton.Hetoldushowthesmacktalkwasonlypartofit.Becausetherewasalsothephysicalabuse,thethreats.Beingcorneredintheboys’bathroomorshovedintolockers.Thecyberbullying.Thephotosthey’dtakenofhim,heinouslyphotoshoppedtotheirliking,andsharedfarandwide.
Thisbrokemyheartandmademeangrywithgoodreason.IwantedtofindtheboyswhohaddonethistoOttoandwringtheirlittlenecks.Mybloodpressurespiked.Therewasapoundinginmyhead,mychest,asmyhandfelltothebackofOtto’schairtosteadymyself.Whatwillhappentothoseboys?I’dasked,demanding,Certainlythey’llbepunishedforwhatthey’vedone.Theycan’tgetawaywiththis.
Hisreplywaslimp.IfOttowouldtelluswhodidthis,Icouldtalktothem,hesaid.AlookcrossedOtto’sface.Hewouldnevertellonthesekidsbecauseifhedid,lifewouldsuddenlybeevenmoreinsufferablethanitalreadywas.
Whydidn’tyoutellus?Willasked,droppingdownbesideOttosothathecouldlookhimstraightintheeye.
Ottolookedathim,headshaking,andasserted,I’mnotgay,Dad,asifitwouldmatterifhewere.I’mnotgay,hemaintained,losinganylingeringtracesofcomposure.
Butthatwasn’tthequestionWillhadaskedbecausethingslikethat—sexualorientation—didn’tmattertoWillorme.
Whydidn’tyoutellusyouwerebeingbullied?Willclarifiedthen,andthatwaswhenOttosaidhedid.Hedidtell.Hetoldme
Inthatmoment,myheartsanksolowitslippedrightoutofme.
Violencethroughoutthecitywasonarise.Thatmeantmoreandmorepatientsshowingupinmyemergencyroomwithbloodiedbodiesandgunshotwounds.MyeverydayroutinestartedtoresemblethesensationalistportrayalofERsyouseeonTV,andnotmerelyallfeversandbrokenbones.Addtothatthefactthatwe’dbeenunderstaffed.Backinthosedays,mytwelve-hourshiftslookedmorelikefifteen,anditwasaconstantmarathonduringwhichtherewaslittletimetoemptymybladderoreat.IwasinafogwhenIwashome,tiredandsleep-deprived.Iforgotthings.Adentalcleaning,topickupagallonofmilkonthewayhomefromwork.
HadOttotoldmehewasbeingbulliedandI’ddismissedit?
OrhadIbeensolostinthoughtthatIdidn’thearhimatall?
Will’seyeshadturnedtominethen,inquiringinthatsingleincredulousstarewhetherIhadknown.Ishruggedmyshouldersandshookmyhead,madehimbelievethatOttohadn’ttoldme.Becausemaybehehadandmaybehehadn’t.Ididn’tknow.
Whatmadeyouthinkitwasokaytotakeaknifetoschool?WillhadaskedOttothen,andItriedtoimaginethelogicthatwentthroughhismindthatmorningwhendecidingtotaketheknife.Wouldtherebelegalrecourseforwhathehaddone,orwouldaslaponthewristsuffice?HowcouldIpossiblystandtosendhimbacktotheclassroomwhenthiswasthrough?
Whatdidyouthinkyouweregoingtodowithit,buddy?Willasked,meaningtheknife,andIbracedmyself,notsureIwasreadytohearhisreply.
Ottogazedoverashoulderatmethenandwhispered,hisvoicebreathyfromcrying,ItwasMom’sidea.Iblanchedathiswords,turningallshadesofwhitebecauseofthepreposterousnessofthestatement.Abold-facedlie.ItwasMom’sideatotaketheknifetoschool.Toscarethemwith,Ottolied,hiseyesdroppingtothefloorwhileWill,thepoliceofficerandIwatchedon.She’stheonewhoputitinmybackpack,hesaidunderhisbreath,andIgasped,knowingimmediatelywhyhesaidit.Iwastheonewhoalwayshadhisback.We’recutfromthesamecloth,Ottoandme.He’samama’sboy;he’salwaysbeen.HethoughtIwouldprotecthimfromthis,thatifIcouldtaketheblameforwhathe’ddone,he’dgetoffscot-free.Buthedidn’tpausetothinkoftheramificationsitmighthaveonmyreputation,onmycareer,onme.
IwasheartbrokenforOtto.ButnowIwasalsoangry.
Untilthatmoment,Ididn’tknowhewasbeingpickedonatschool.Andfarbeitfrommetosuggesthebringaknife,aknife!,toschooltothreatenteenageboyswith,muchlessslipitinsidehisbackpack
Howdidhepossiblythinkanyonewouldfallforthatlie?
That’sridiculous,Otto,Ibreathedoutasalleyesintheroommovedinunisontomine.Howcouldyousaythat?Iasked,myowneyesstartingtowellwithtears.Ipressedafingertohischest.Iwhispered,Youdidthis,Otto.You,andhewincedinthechairasifhe’dbeenslapped.Heturnedhisbacktomeandonceagainbegantocry.
Soonafter,wetookOttohome,havingbeeninformedthattherewouldbeanexpulsionhearingbeforetheboardtoseeifOttocouldreturntoschool.Wedidn’twaitforananswer.IcouldneversendOttobackthereagain.
Laterthatnight,Willaskedmeinprivate,Don’tyouthinkyouweretooharshonhim?
Andthereitwas.Thefirstriftinourmarriage.
Untilthatmoment,there’dbeennobreachesinourrelationship,nogaps,nonethatIknewaboutatleast.WillandIwerelikediamonds,Ithought,abletowithstandthecrushingpressuresofmarriageandfamilylife.
Ifeltsorryforthewaythingshadunfoldedintheprincipal’soffice.TherewasanawfulpaininthepitofmystomachknowingthatOttohadbeenenduringthebullyingandabuseforsolongandwedidn’tknow.Ifeltsadithadcometothis,thatmysonthoughttakingaknifetoschoolwashisonlyoption.ButIwasangrythathetriedtolaytheblameforitonme.
ItoldWillno,Ididn’tthinkIwastooharshonOtto,andhesaid,He’sjustaboy,Sadie.Hemadeamistake.
Butsomemistakes,Isooncametolearn,couldn’tsoeasilybeforgiven.Becauseitwasn’ttwoweekslaterthatIdiscoveredWillwashavinganaffair,thathe’dbeenhavinganaffairforquitesometime.
NextcamethenewsofAlice’sdeath.Iwasn’tsure,butWillwas.Itwastimetoleave.
Happenstance,hecalledit.
Everythinghappensforareason,hesaid.
WillpromisedmewecouldbehappyinMaine,thatwejustneededtoleavebehindeverythingthathappenedinChicagoandstartfresh,thoughofcourseitstruckmeasironicthatourhappinesscameatAlice’sexpense.
Aswesitnowatthetable,eatingthelastofourdinner,Ifindmyselfstaringoutthedarkwindowabovethekitchensink.ThinkingaboutImogenandtheBainesfamily,aboutOfficerBerg’saccusationthismorning,Iwonderifwecaneverbehappyhere,orifbadluckisdestinedtofollowuswhereverwego.
CAMILLE
Afterthatfirsttimetogether,mymeetupswithWillbecamearegularthing.Therewereotherhotelrooms,onesthatbecamemorefancythemoreIbegged.Ididn’tlikethehotelshefirsttookmeto.Theyweredank,dingy,cheap.Theroomshadstuffysmellstothem.Thesheetswerescratchyandthin.Theyhadstainsonthem.Iheardpeopleontheothersideofthewalls;theyheardme.
Ideservedmorethanthat.Iwastoogoodforbudgethotels,forthecriticismofaminimallypaidstaff.Iwasspecialanddeservedtobetreatedassuch.Willshouldhaveknownthatbythen.Idroppedahintoneafternoon.
I’vealwaysdreamedofseeingtheinsideoftheWaldorf,Isaid.
TheWaldorf?heasked,standingbeforeme,laughingatmysuggestion.Weweredeepinthealcoveofanapartmentcomplexwherenoonecouldseeus.Wenevertalkedabouthismarriage.Itwasoneofthosethingsthat’sjustthere.Oneofthosethingsyoudon’twanttobelieveisthere,likedeath,aliens,malaria.
TheWaldorfAstoria?heaskedwhenIsuggestedit.Youknowthat’slikefourhundreddollarsanight,maybemore.
Iasked,pouting,AmInotworththattoyou?
Asitturnedout,Iwas.Becausewithinanhour’stime,wehadaroomonthetenthfloor,champagnecomplimentsofroomservice.
There’snothing,Willsaidasheopenedthedoortothelavishhotelsuiteandletmein,thatIwouldn’tdoforyou.
Intheroom,therewasafireplace,aterrace,aminibar,afancybathtubwhereIcouldsoak,staringoutattheviewsofthecityfromtheluxuryofabubblebath.
ThehotelstaffreferredtousasMr.andMrs.Foust.
Enjoyyourstay,Mr.andMrs.Foust.
IimaginedaworldwhereIwasMrs.Foust.WhereIlivedinWill’shomewithhim,whereIcarriedandraisedhisbabies.Itwasagoodlife.
ButIdidn’teverwanttobemistakenforSadie.IwassomuchbetterthanSadie.
Willmeantwhathesaid:thattherewasnothinghewouldn’tdoforme.Heprovedittimeandagain.Heshoweredmewithsweetnothings.Hewrotemelovenotes.Heboughtmethings.
Whennoonewasthere,hebroughtmetohishome.ItwasfardifferentthanthegloomyapartmentwhereSadieandIusedtolive,thattwo-bedroominUptownwheredrunksandbumshungaround,accostingusformoneywhenwesteppedoutside,notthatwehadanytospare.EvenifIdid,Iwasn’tabouttoshare.I’mnotknownformygenerosity.ButSadiewas,alwaysdiggingawayinherpurse,andtheyclungtoher,thedrunksandthebumsdid,likelicetohair.
Theytriedthesamewithme.Itoldthemtofuckoff.
InsideWillandSadie’shome,Iranmyhandsacrossthearmofaleathersofa,fondledglassvasesandcandelabrasandsuch,allclearlyexpensive.TheSadieIonceknewcouldneveraffordthesethings.Adoctor’ssalarycamewithalltheperks.
Willledthewaytothebedroom.Ifollowedalong.
TherewasapictureofSadieandhimonabedsidetable,aweddingpicture.Itwascharming,really.Inthepicture,theywerestandinginthecenterofastreet.Theyweresharplyinfocuswhiletherestofthepicturegraduallyblurred.Thetreescanopiedoverthem,fullofspringtimeblooms.Theyweren’tfacingthecamera,smilingcheesygrinsatsomephotographer’srequestlikemostbridesandgroomsdo.Instead,theywereleanedintoeachother,kissing.Hereyeswereclosed,whilehiswatchedher.Hestaredatherlikeshewasthemostbeautifulwomanintheworld.Hishandwaswrappedaroundthesmallofherback,herspressedtohischest.Therewasasprayofriceintheair.Forprosperity,fertilityandgoodfortune.
Willcaughtmelookingatthepicture.
TosavefaceIsaid,Yourwife’spretty,asifI’dneverseenherbefore.ButSadiewasafarcryfrompretty.Shewasordinaryatbest.
Heworeahangdoglook,said,Ithinkso.
Itoldmyselfhehadtosaythat.Thatitwouldn’tberightforhimtosayanythingelse.
Buthedidn’tmeanit.
Hecametome,ranhishandsthroughmyhair,kissedmedeeply.You’rebeautiful,hesaid,thesuperlativeformofpretty,whichmeantIwasprettierthanher.
Willledmetothebed,tossedpillowstotheground.
Don’tyouthinkyourwifewillmind?IaskedasIsatontheedgeofthebed.
Ihavelittlemoralcompass.I’msurethatmuchisclear.Ididn’tmind.ButIthoughtmaybehedid.
Will’ssmilewasmischievous.Hecametome,slippedahandupmyskirt,said,Ihopeshedoes.
Wedidn’ttalkabouthiswifeanymoreafterthat.
WhatI’dcometolearnwasthatWillwasaladies’manbeforehegotmarried.Aphilanderer,thekindofmanwhothoughthe’dneversettledown.
Astheysay,oldhabitsdiehard.ItwassomethingSadietriedtokeepincheck.
But,tryaswemight,wecan’tchangepeople.Soshekeptatightreinonhiminstead,sameassheoncedidme.Longago,mylighters,mysmokeswoulddisappearifshefoundthem,lockswouldchangewhenI’dforgettoclosetheapartmentdoorbehindmyself.Shewasquitethedisciplinarian,quitethedespot.
Icouldseeinhiseyesthewaysheenfeebledhim,thewaysheemasculatedhim.
I,ontheotherhand,madehimfeellikeaman.
SADIE
It’sseventhirty.Imogenstillisn’thome.Willdoesn’tseemworried,notevenwhenIpresshimonit,askingwhoshe’sstudyingwithandwherethefriendlives.
“Iknowyouwanttobelievethebestinher,Will.Butcomeon,”Isaytohim.“Webothknowshe’snotstudyingSpanish.”
Willshrugsandtellsme,“She’sjustbeingateenager,Sadie.”
“Adelinquentteenager,”Iretort,myfaceexpressionless.Otto,atfourteen,isateenager,too.Butit’saschoolnightandhe’sathomewithusasheshouldbe.
Willwipesdownthetablefromdinnerandtossesthedirtydishragintothesink.Heturnstome,smilinghismagnanimoussmile,andsays,“Iwasadelinquentteenageronce,andlookhowIturnedout.She’llbefine,”asOttocomesintotheroomwithhisgeometryfolder.
WillandOttospreadoutatthekitchentabletoworkonhomework.TateturnsonthelivingroomTVandsettlesin,snuggledupunderanafghan,towatchacartoon.
Icarrymyglassofwineupstairs.AlongsoakinawarmbathiswhatIhaveinmind.Butatthetopofthesteps,Ifindmyselfdrawnnottothemasterbathroom,butinsteadtoImogen’sroom.
It’sdarkwhenIenter.Ipressmypalmagainstthedoor,openingitwide.Iignoreasignonthedoorthattellsmetokeepout.Iletmyselfintotheroom,feelingthewallforalightswitchandturningiton.TheroombecomesvisibleandIdiscoverajumbleofdarkclothingstrewnacrossthefloor,enoughofitthatIhavetomoveittoavoidsteppingonit.
Theroomsmellsofincense.TheboxofsticksliesthereonImogen’sdeskbesideacoiledsnake–shapedholder.Thesticksgoinsidethesnake’smouth,thesmellstillpotentenoughthatIwonderifshewashere,afterschool,burningincenseinherroombeforeshedisappearedtowhereversheis.Thedeskiswoodenandold.Imogenhascarvedwordsintothewoodwiththesharpedgeofsomesortofblade.They’renotnicewords.Indeed,they’reangrywords.Fuckyou.Ihateu.
Itakeaswigofmywinebeforesettingtheglassonthedesktop.Itracemyfingeracrossthewoodentrenches,wonderingifthisisthesamehandwritingthatwasleftonmycarwindow.Iwish,inretrospect,thatIhadthoughttotakeaphotoofmycarwindowbeforeblastingthatwordawaywiththedefrost.ThenIcouldcomparethehandwriting,seeiftheshapeofthelettersisthesame.ThenI’dknow.
ThisisthefirsttimeI’vesteppedallthewayinsideImogen’sroom.Ididn’tcomewiththeintentofsnooping.Butthisismyfamily’shomenow.Itfeelswithinmyrighttosnoop.Willwouldn’tlikeit.IjustbarelymakeouthisandOtto’smuffledvoicescomingfromthekitchen.TheyhavenoideawhereIam.
Ilookinsidethedeskdrawersfirst.It’sjustwhatyou’dexpecttofindinadeskdrawer.Pens,paper,paperclips.Istandonthedeskchair,runningmyhandsblindlyalongthebookshelfabovethedesk,comingupwithonlyapalmfulofdust.Ieasemyselfbackdowntothefloor.
Ileavemywinewhereitis.Igotothebedsidetable,pullonthedrawerknob.Isiftthroughrandomthings.Achild’srosary,waddeduptissues,abookmark.Acondom.Ireachforthecondom,holditinmyhandamoment,debatewhethertotellWill.Imogenissixteen.Sixteen-year-olds,thesedays,havesex.ButacondomatleasttellsmeImogenisbeingsmartaboutthechoicesshemakes.She’sbeingsafe.Ican’tfaultherforthat.IfwewereonbettertermsI’dhaveaconversationwithher,womantowoman.Butwe’renot.Regardless,anappointmentwithagynecologistisn’toutofthequestionnowthatshe’sofacertainage.Thatmightbeabetterwaytohandlethings.
Iputthecondomback.ThenIfindaphotograph.
It’saphotographofaman,Icantell,fromthebodyshapeandwhat’sleftofthehair,thatwhichhasn’tbeenscuffedoffinapparentanger.Buttheman’sface,ontheotherhand,hasbeenobliteratedlikeascratch-offlotteryticket,scoredwiththeedgeofacoin.Iwonderwhothemanis.IwonderhowImogenknowshim,andwhatmadeImogensoangrythatshefelttheneedtodothis
Idroptomyhandsandkneesbesidethebed.Ilookbeneath,beforeforaginginthepocketsofthemisplacedclothing.Irisetomyfeetandgotothecloset,slidingthedooropen.Ireachin,feelingblindlyforthelightstringandgivingitapull.
Idon’twantWilltoknowI’mnosingaroundinImogen’sroom.Iholdmybreath,listenfornoisescomingfromdownstairs,butallthatIhearisTate’scartoonontheTV,thesoundofhisinnocentlaugh.Ifonlyhe’dstaythisageforever.WillandOttoarequietandIenvisionthemfoldedovernotebooksonthekitchentable,lostinthought.
NotsolongafterwhathappenedwithOtto,Ireadanarticleabouthowtobestsnoopinyourteen’sroom,theplacestolook.Nottheobviousspotslikedeskdrawers,butinstead:secretpocketsintheliningofcoats;insidetheelectricalsockets;infalse-bottomedsodacans.Whatweweretolookforwasn’tsoobviouseither,butrathercleaningsupplies,plasticbags,over-the-countermedicine—allofwhichwereeasilymisusedbyteens.IneveractuallysnoopedthroughOtto’sroom.Ididn’tneedto.Whathappenedwithhimwasoneanddone.Ottohadlearnedhislesson.Wetalkedaboutit.Itwouldneverhappenagain.
ButImogenisaclosedbooktome.Shehardlyspeaks,notmorethanasentenceatbest,andeventhatisneverforthcoming.Iknownothingabouther,aboutwhoshe’shavingsexwith(anddoesshehavesexhere,inthisroom,whenWillandIaregone,ordoesshesneakoutthebedroomwindowatnight?),aboutthosegirlsshesmokescigaretteswith,aboutwhatshedoesinthesemissinghoursthatshe’snotwithus.WillandIshouldhaveabetterhandleonthesethings.Weshouldn’tbesouninformed.It’sirresponsiblethatweare,buteverytimeI’vebroachedthesubjectwithWill—whoisImogenreally?—heputsmeoff,sayingthatwecan’tpushtoohard.Thatshe’llopenuptouswhenshe’sready.
Ican’twaitanymore.
Isearchthecloset.Ifindtheletterinthepocketofacharcoalsweatshirt.Itreallyisn’thardtofind.Ichecktheshoeboxesfirst,thebackcornersoftheclosetwhereonlydustresides.Andthenontotheclothing.It’sonthefourthorfifthtrythatmyhandfoldsaroundsomethingandIpullitoutofapockettosee.It’spaper,foldedmany,manytimessothatit’ssmall,nomorethananinchtallbyaninchwide,andthick.
Ibringitoutofthecloset.Igentlyunfoldit.
Pleasedon’tbemadisscrawledonthepage,theinkpalelikemaybethesweatshirtwasrunthroughthewashingmachinewithit.Butit’sthereandvisible,writteninprint,farmoremasculinethanmyownspideryscript,whichleadsmetobelieveitwaswrittenbyaman’shand,whichIcouldhaveguessedanywayfromthecontentofthenote.YouknowaswellasIdohowhardthisisforme.It’snothingyoudid.Itdoesn’tmeanIdon’tloveyou.ButIcan’tkeeplivingthisdoublelife.
Fromdownstairs,thefrontdoorsuddenlyopens.Thedoorslamsclosed.
Imogenishome.
Insidemychest,myheartbeginstohammer.
Will’svoicegreetsher,morecordialthanIwishhewouldbe.Heasksifshe’shungry,ifshewantshimtowarmherupsomedinner—whichgoesagainsttheruleswelaiddownforher,thatsheeatsdinnerwithusorshedoesn’teatourdinneratall.IwishWillwouldn’tbesoobliging,butit’sthewayWillis,alwayseagertoplease.Imogen’srepliesareshort,brute—no,no—ashervoicedriftstowardthesteps.
Ireact,movingquickly.Irefoldthenoteandjamitbackintothesweatshirtpocket,touslingtheclothesintoplace.Ipullthestringlightandslidethedoorclosed,hurryingfromtheroom,rememberingatthelastminutetoturnthebedroomlightoff,topullthedoorclosedjustso,asitwaswhenIfoundit,openasmidge.
Idon’thavetimetodouble-checkthateverythingisasIfoundit.Ipraythatitis.
OurpathscrossinthestairwellandIofferatightsmilebutsaynothing.
MOUSE
Onceuponatimetherewasanoldhouse.Everythingaboutthehousewasold:thewindows,theappliances,andespeciallythestepsinthehousewereold.Becauseanytimeanyonewalkedonthem,theygroanedlikeoldpeoplesometimesgroan.
Mousewasn’tsurewhythestepsdidthat.Sheknewalotofthings,butshedidn’tknowanythingabouthowtreadsandrisersrubbedtogether,grindingagainstnailsandscrewsontheotherside,somewherebelowthestepswhereshecouldn’tsee.Allsheknewwasthatthestepsmadeanoise,allofthemdid,butespeciallythelaststep,whichmadethemostnoiseofall.
Mousethoughtsheknewsomethingaboutthosestepsthatnooneelsedid.Shethoughtithurtforthemtobesteppedon,andthatwasthereasontheygroanedandpulledbackfromunderfootwhenevershedid—thoughMouseonlyweighedforty-sixpoundsandcouldn’thurtaflyifshetried.
ItmadeMousethinkoftheoldpeopleacrossthestreet,theoneswhomovedlikeeverythinghurt,whogroanedjustlikethestairssometimesgroaned.
Mousewassensitiveinawayotherpeopleweren’t.Itworriedhertowalkonthatlaststair.Andso,justasshewascarefulnottosteponcaterpillarsandroly-polieswhenshewalkeddownthestreet,Mousetookextracaretostepoverthatlasttread,thoughshewasalittlegirlandherstridewasnotwide.
Herfathertriedtofixthestairs.Hewasalwaysgettingworkedupaboutthem,swearingunderhisbreathabouttheincessant,infuriatingsqueak.
Thenwhydon’tyoujuststepoverit?thegirlaskedherfatherbecauseMouse’sfatherwasatallman,hisstridemuchwiderthanhers.Hecouldhaveeasilywalkedrightoverthatlaststairwithoutputtingweightonit.Buthewasalsoanimpatientman,thekindwhoalwayswantedthingsjustso
Herfatherwasn’tcutoutfordoingchoresaroundthehouse.Hewasmuchbettersuitedforsittingbehindadesk,drinkingcoffee,jabberingintothephone.Mousewouldsitontheothersideofthedoorwhenhedidthatandlisten.Shewasn’tallowedtointerrupt,butifshestayedrealquiet,shecouldhearwhathehadtosay,thewayhisvoicechangedwhenhewasonthatphonewithacustomer.
Mouse’sfatherwasahandsomeman.Hehadhairthatwasadarkchestnutbrown.Hiseyeswerebig,round,alwayswatching.Hewasquietmostofthetime,exceptforwhenhewalked,becausehewasabigmanandhisfootstepswereheavy.Mousecouldhearhimcomingfromamileaway.
Hewasagoodfather.HetookMouseoutsideandplayedcatchwithher.Hetaughtherthingsaboutbirdnestsandhowtherabbitshidtheirbabiesinholesintheground.Mouse’sfatheralwaysknewwheretheywere,andhe’dgototheholes,liftuptheclumpsofgrassandfurontop,andletMousetakeapeek.
Oneday,whenhe’dhadenoughofthatsqueakystair,Mouse’sfathergatheredhistoolboxfromthegarageandclimbedthesteps.Withahammer,hedrovenailsintothetread,clampingitdowntothewoodontheotherside.Thenhegrabbedahandfuloffinishingnails.Hetappedthemintothetread,reattachingittotheriserbeneath.
Hestoodbackproudlytoexaminehishandiwork.
ButMouse’sfatherhadneverbeenmuchofahandyman.
Heshouldhaveknownthatnomatterwhathedid,hewouldneverbeabletofixthestep.Becauseevenafterallhishardwork,thestaircontinuedtomakenoise
Intime,Mousecametodependonthatsound.Shewouldlieinbed,staringupatthelightthathungfromherceiling,heartbeatinghard,unabletosleep.
Thereshewouldlistenforthatlaststeptobellowoutawarningforher,lettingherknowsomeonewascomingupthestairsforherroom,givingheraheadstarttohide.
SADIE
IwatchfrombedasWillchangesoutofhisclothesandintoapairofpajamapants,droppinghisclothesintothehamperonthefloor.Hestandsforasecondatthewindow,lookingoutontothestreetbeneath.
“Whatisit?”Iask,sittinguprightinbed.SomethinghascaughtWill’seyeanddrawnhimthere,tothewindow.Hestands,contemplatively.
Theboysarebothasleep,thehouseremarkablyquiet.
“There’salighton,”Willtellsme,andIask,“Where?”
Hesays,“Morgan’shouse.”
Thisdoesn’tsurpriseme.AsfarasIknow,thehouseisstillacrimescene.I’dhavetoimagineittakesdaysforforensicstoprocessthingsbeforesomebioremediationservicegetscalledintoscrubbloodandotherbodilyfluidsfrominsidethehome.SoonWillandIwillwatchonaspeopleinyellowsplashsuitswithsomesortofbreathingapparatusaffixedtotheirheadsmoveinandout,takingbloodstaineditemsaway.
Iwonderagainabouttheviolencethathappenedtherethatnight,aboutthebloodshed.
Howmanybloodstaineditemswilltheyhavetotakeaway?
“There’sacarinthedrive,”Willtellsme.ButbeforeIhaveachancetoreply,hesays,“Jeffrey’scar.HemustbehomefromTokyo.”
Hestandsmotionlessbeforethewindowforanotherminuteortwo.Irisefrombed,leavingthewarmthoftheblankets.Thehouseiscoldtonight.IgotothewindowandstandbesideWill,ourelbowstouching.Ilookout,seethesamethinghesees.AshadowySUVparkedinthedrivewaybesideapolicecruiser,bothofthemilluminatedbyaporchlight.
Aswewatchon,thefrontdoorofthehomeopens.Anofficerstepsoutfirst,thenushersJeffreythroughthedoor.Jeffreymustbeafoottallerthanthepoliceman.Hepausesintheopendoorwayforalastlookinside.Inhishands,hecarriesluggage.Hestepsfromthehome,passingtheofficerby.Theofficerclosesthedoorandlocksitbehindthem.Theofficerhasmethimhere,Ithink,andkeptaneyeonthecrimescenewhileMr.Bainespackedupafewpersonalthings.
UnderhisbreathWillmurmurs,“Thisisallsosurreal.”
Ilayahandonhisarm,theclosestIcometoconsolinghim.“It’sawful,”Isaybecauseitis.Noone,butespeciallynotayoungwoman,shouldhavetodielikethis.
“Youheardaboutthememorialservice?”Willasksme,thoughhiseyesdon’tstrayfromthewindow.
“Whatmemorialservice?”Iask,becauseIdidn’thearaboutamemorialservice.
“There’samemorialservice,”Willtellsme.“Tomorrow.ForMorgan.AttheMethodistchurch.”Therearetwochurchesontheisland.TheotheroneisCatholic.“Ioverheardpeopletalkingaboutitatschoolpickup.Icheckedandfoundtheobituaryonline,thenoticeofthememorialservice.Iassumetherewillbeafuneraleventuallybut…”hesays,leavingthatthere,andIeasilydeducethatthebodyisstillbeingheldbythemorgueandwillbeuntiltheinvestigationisthrough.Formalitieslikeafuneralandawakewillhavetowaituntilthemurdereriscaught.Intheinterim,amemorialservicewillhavetodo.
TomorrowIwork.Butdependingonwhattimethememorialserviceis,IcangowithWillafter.Iknowhe’llwanttogo.WillandMorganwerefriends,afterall,and,thoughourrelationshiphasbeenrockyoflate,itwouldbelonelyforhim,Ithink,walkingintothatmemorialserviceallalone.Icandothisforhim.Andbesides,selfishlyI’dliketogetagoodlookatJeffreyBainesupclose.
“Iworkuntilsixtomorrow,”Isay.“We’llgotogether.AssoonasIfinishup.MaybeOttocankeepaneyeonTate,”Isay.Itwouldbeaquicktrip.Ican’timagineusstayinglong.We’dpayourrespectsandthenleave.
“We’renotgoingtothememorialservice,”Willsays.Hiswordsareconclusive.
I’mtakenaback,becausethisisn’twhatIexpecthimtosay.“Whynot?”Iask.
“Itfeelspresumptuoustogo.Youdidn’tknowheratall,andIdidn’tknowherthatwell.”Istarttoexplainthatamemorialserviceisn’texactlythetypeofthingthatoneneedsaninvitationtoattend,butIstopbecauseIcanseeWillhasalreadymadeuphismind.
Iaskinstead,“Doyouthinkhedidit?”IkeepmyeyestrainedtoJeffreyBainesontheothersideofthewindow.Ihavetocranemyneckabittosee,astheBaineses’houseisn’tdirectlyacrossthestreet.IwatchasJeffreyandtheofficerexchangewordsinthedriveway,beforepartingwaysandheadingfortheirowncars.
WhenWilldoesn’tanswermyquestion,Ihearmyselfmutter,“It’salwaysthehusband.”
Thistime,hisreplyisquick.“Hewasoutofthecountry,Sadie.Whywouldyouthinkhehadanythingtodowiththis?”
Itellhim,“Justbecausehewasoutofthecountrydoesn’tmeanhecouldn’thavepaidsomeoneelsetokillhiswife.”Because,onthecontrary,beingoutofthecountryatthetimeofhiswife’smurderprovidedhimwiththeperfectalibi.
Willmustseethelogicinthis.There’sasmall,almostimperceptiblenodoftheheadbeforeheasks,backtracking,“What’sthatsupposedtomeananyway,aboutitalwaysbeingthehusband?”
IshrugandtellhimIdon’tknow.“It’sjust,ifyouwatchthenewslongenough,that’sthewayitseemstobe.Unhappyhusbandskilltheirwives.”
Mygazestaysonthewindow,watchingas,ontheothersideofthestreet,JeffreyBainespopsthetrunkofhisSUVandtossestheluggagein.Hispostureisvertical.There’ssomethingsuperciliousaboutthewayhestands.
Hedoesn’tsagattheshoulders,hedoesn’tconvulseandsoblikemenwhohavelosttheirwivesaresupposedtodo.
AsfarasIcantell,hedoesn’tshedasingletear.
CAMILLE
Iwasaddicted.Icouldn’tgetenoughofhim.Iwatchedhim,Imirroredhim.Ifollowedhisroutine.Iknewwherehisboyswenttoschool,whichcoffeeshopshepatronized,whatheateforlunch.I’dgothere,getthesamething.Sitatthesametableafterhe’dleft.Forgeconversationswithhiminmymind.Pretendweweretogetherwhenweweren’t
Ithoughtofhimallday,Ithoughtofhimallnight.IfI’dhavehadmyway,he’dbewithmeallthetime.ButIcouldn’tbethatwoman.Thatobsessed,hung-upwoman.Ihadtokeepmycool.
Iworkedhardtomakesureourrun-insseemedmorelikechanceencountersthanwhattheywere.Take,forexample,thetimewecrossedpathsinOldTown.Isteppedfromabuildingtofindhimontheothersideofit,surroundedbypedestriantraffic.Anothercoginthemachine.
Icalledtohim.Hetookalook,smiled.Hecametome.
Whatareyoudoinghere?What’sthisplace?heaskedofthebuildingbehindme.Hisembracewasswift.Blinkandyoumightmissit.
Ilookedatthebuildingbehindme,readthesign.Itoldhim,Buddhistmeditation
Buddhistmeditation?heasked.Hislaughwaslight.Ilearnsomethingnewaboutyoueveryday.Hesaid,Inevertookyouforthemeditationtype
Iwasn’t.I’mnot.Ihadn’tcomeforBuddhistmeditation,butforhim.Daysbefore,I’dgottenapeekathiscalendar,sawareservationforlunchatarestaurantthreedoorsdown.Ichoseanyoldbuildingnearby,waitedinthefoyerforhimtopassby.IsteppedfromthebuildingwhenIsawhim,calledtohimandhecame.
Achanceencounterthatwasanythingbut.
SomedaysIfoundmyselfstandingoutsidehishome.I’dbetherewhenheleftforwork,hiddenbythechaosofthecity.Justanotherfaceinthecrowd.I’dwatchashepushedhiswaythroughthebuilding’sglassdoor,asheblendedinwiththerushofcommutersonthestreet.
Fromhisbuilding,Willwouldwalkthreeblocks.There,he’dslipdownthesubwaysteps,catchtheRedLinenorthtoHoward,wherehe’dtransfertothePurpleLine—aswouldI,twentypacesbehind.
Ifonlyhe’dhaveturnedandlooked,hewouldhaveseenmethere.
ThecollegecampuswhereWillworkedwasostentatious.Whitebrickbuildingssatcoveredwithivy,besideglitzyarchways.Itwasthickwithpeople,studentswithbackpackson,racingtoclass.
OnemorningIfollowedWilldownasidewalk.Ikeptjusttherightdistance,closebutnottooclose.Ididn’twanttolosehim,butIcouldn’triskbeingseen.Mostpeoplearen’tpatientenoughforthiskindofpursuit.Thetrickistofitin,tolooklikeeveryoneelse.AndsothatwaswhatIdid.
Allatonce,avoicecalledforhim.Hey,ProfessorFoust!
Ilookedup.Itwasagirl,awoman,whostoodnearlyastallashim,hercoatfittedandtight.Therewasabeanieonherhead,flashy,red.Strandsofunnaturalblondfellfrombeneaththehat,drapedacrosshershouldersandback.Herjeansweretight,too,hugginghercurvesbeforemeetingwiththeshaftofatallbrownboot.
Willandshestoodclosely.Inthecenter,theirbodiesnearlytouched.
Icouldn’thearwhattheyweresaying.Butthetonesoftheirvoices,thebodylanguagesaiditall.Herhandbrushedagainsthisarm.Hesaidsomethingtoherandtheybothdoubledoverinlaughter.Shehadherhandonhisarm.Iheardherthen.Shesaidtohim,Stopit,Professor.You’rekillingme.Shecouldn’tstoplaughing.Hewatchedherlaugh.Itwasn’tthehideouswaymostpeoplelaugh,mouthswide,nostrilsflaring.Therewassomethingdelicateaboutit.Somethinggracefulandlovely.
Heleanedinclose,whisperedintoherear.Ashedid,thegreen-eyedmonstergrabbedaholdofme.
There’sasaying.Keepyourfriendscloseandyourenemiescloser.WhichiswhyItookthetimetogettoknowher.HernamewasCarrieLaemmer,asecond-yearpre-lawstudentwithaspirationsofbecominganenvironmentallawyer.ShewasinWill’sclass,thatoneinthefrontrowwhosehandshotupeverytimeheaskedaquestion.Theonewholingeredafterclass,whobanteredaboutpoachingandhumanencroachmentasiftheyweresomethingworthdiscussing.Theonewhostoodtooclosewhentheythoughttheywerealone,wholeanedin,whoconfessed,Suchadamntragedyaboutthemountaingorilla,wantinghimtoconsoleher.
OneafternoonIcaughtherasshewasmakingherwayoutofthelecturehall.
Ibrushedupbesideher,said,ThatclassIt’skillingme.
Icarriedtheclasstextbookinmyhands,theoneIspentfortybucksonjusttomakebelieveIwasinthesameclassasher,justanotherstudentinProfessorFoust’sglobalpublichealthcourse.
I’minovermyhead,Itoldher.Ican’tkeepup.Butyou,Isaid,praisinghertohighheaven.Itoldherhowsmartshewas.Howtherewasnothingshedidn’tknow.
Howdoyoudoit?Iasked.Youmuststudyallthetime.
Notreally,shesaid,beaming.Sheshrugged,toldme,Idon’tknow.Thisstuffjustcomeseasilyforme.SomepeoplesayImusthaveaphotographicmemory.
You’reCarrie,aren’tyou?CarrieLaemmer?Iasked,lettingitgotoherhead,thisideathatshewassomebodyspecial,thatshewasknown
Shereachedoutahand.Itookit,toldherIcouldreallyusesomehelpifshehadtime.Carrieagreedtotutorme,forafee.Wemettwice.There,insomelittleteashopjustoffcampuswherewedrankherbaltea,IlearnedthatshewasfromthesuburbsofBoston.Shedescribeditforme,thisplacewhereshegrewup:thenarrowstreets,theoceanviews,thecharmingbuildings.Shetoldmeaboutherfamily,herolderbrothers,bothcollegiateswimmersforsometop-rankedcollege,thoughshe,oddlyenough,couldn’tswim.Butthereweremanythingsshecoulddo,allofwhichshelistedforme.Shewasarunner,amountainclimber,adownhillskier.Shespokethreelanguagesandhadanuncannyabilitytotouchhertonguetohernose.Sheshowedme.
ShespokewithaclassicBostonaccent.Peoplelovedtohearit.Justthesoundofhervoicedrewpeopletoher.Itluredthemin.Itdidn’tmatterwhatshehadtosay.Itwastheaccenttheyliked.
Sheletthatgotoherhead,assheletmanythingsgotoherhead.
Carrie’sfavoritecolorwasred.Sheknitthebeanieherself.Shepaintedlandscapes,wrotepoetry.WishedhernamewassomethinglikeWrenorMeadoworClover.Shewasyourquintessentialright-braintype,anidealist,awishfulthinker.
IsawWillandhertogethermanytimesafterthat.Theoddsofrunningintosomeoneonacampusthatsizearesmall.WhichishowIknewthatshesoughthimout,thatsheknewwherehe’dbeandwhen.Sheputherselfthere,madehimthinkitwaskismetthatmadethemkeeprunningintoeachotherinsteadofwhatitreallywas.Atrap.
I’mnotinsecure.Idon’thaveaninferioritycomplex.Shewasnoprettierthanme,nobetter.Thiswasplainandsimplejealousy.
Everyonegetsjealous.Babiesgetjealous,dogsdo,too.Dogsareterritorial,thewaytheystandguardontheirtoys,theirbeds,theirowners.Theydon’tletanyonetouchwhat’stheirs.Theygetangryandaggressivewhenyoudo.Theysnarl,theybite.Theymaulpeopleintheirsleep.Anythingtoprotecttheirbelongings.
Ididn’thaveachoiceaboutwhathappenednext.Ihadtoprotectwhatwasmine
SADIE
Laterthatnight,Iawakenfromadream.Icomeslowlyto,andfindWillsittingintheslipcoveredchairinthecorneroftheroom,hidingamongtheshadows.Ijustbarelymakeouttheoutlineofhim,theblackenedcurveofhissilhouetteandthefaintglowoffthewhitesofhiseyesashesitsthere,watchingme.Ilieinbedawhile,toodrowsyanddisorientedtoaskhimwhathe’sdoing,tosuggestthathecomebacktobedwithme.
Istretchinbed.Irollover,ontomyotherside,draggingtheblanketwithme,turningmybacktowardWillinthechair.He’llcometobedwhenhe’sready.
Ifoldmyselfintothefetalposition.Ipullmykneesintome,pressthemintomyabdomen.Ibrushagainstsomethinginthebed.Will’sdensememoryfoampillow,Iassume,butsoonfeeltheswellofavertebrae,theconvexityofashoulderbladeinstead.Besideme,Willisshirtless,hisskinclammyandwarmtothetouch.Hishairfallssideways,downhisneck,poolingonthemattress.
Willisinbedwithme.Willisnotinthechairinthecorneroftheroom.
Someoneelseishere.
Someoneelseiswatchingussleep.
Iboltuprightinbed.Myeyesfighttoadjusttotheblacknessoftheroom.Myheartisinmythroat.Icanhardlyspeak.“Who’sthere?”Iask,butthere’sabulgeinmythroatandallthatcomesoutisagasp.
Ireachahandtothebedsidetable,makeanefforttoturntheknobonthelamp.ButbeforeIcan,hervoicecomestome,quietlyandmeasured,thewordschosencarefully.
“Iwouldn’tdothatifIwasyou.”
Imogenrisesfromthechair.Shecomestome,setsherselfgingerlyontheedgeofmybed.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?Doyouneedsomething?”Iask,tryingnottoletontomyownstateofalarm.Butitcan’tsoeasilybedisguised.Mypanicistransparent.Thereshouldbereliefinseeingthatit’sImogen—notanintruder,butoneofourown—butthere’snoreliefinit.Imogendoesn’tbelonginmybedroomthislateatnight,lingeringinthedarkness.
IsearchImogenwithmyeyes,lookingforareasonastowhyshe’shere.Lookingforaweapon,thoughthethoughtalonemakesmesick,theideaofImogensneakingintoourroomwiththeintentofhurtingus.
“Issomethingwrong?”Iask.“Somethingyouwanttotalkabout?”
Alwaysaheavysleeper,Willdoesn’tbudge.
“Youhadnoright,”shescolds,quietlyseething,“tocomeintomyroom.”
There’sasuddentightnessinmychest.
Mygutinstinctistolie.
“Iwasn’tinyourroom,Imogen,”Iwhisperback,andit’sinmybestinterestnowtokeepquietbecauseIdon’twantWilltoknowthatIwasthere.Thatinsteadofbathing,IwentthroughthedrawersinImogen’sbedroom,thepocketsofherclothing.Aninvasionofprivacy,Willwouldsay,nottakingkindlytomysearchingthroughherthings.
“You’realiar.”Imogenspeaksthroughherteethnow,asIswear,“I’mnot.Honestly,Imogen.Iwasn’tinyourroom.”
Hernextwordscomeasapunchtothegut.“Thenwhatwasyourwinedoingthere?”sheasks.MyfaceflamesandIknowthatI’vebeencaught.Ipictureit,clearasday,settingtheglassofcabernetonthedesktopasIcanvassedherroom
Andthenlater,fleeinginahurry,leavingthewinebehind.
HowcouldIhavebeensostupid?
“Oh,”Isay,strainingforalie.Butaliedoesn’tcome.Notacredibleenoughonetoshareanyway,andsoIdon’ttry.I’veneverbeenaverygoodliar.
“Ifyouever,”shebegins.Butit’salsowheresheends,wordscuttingoffabruptly,leavingitformetofigureoutwhatcomesnext.
Imogenrisesfromtheedgeofthebed.Hersuddenheightgivesheranadvantage.Shetowersoverme,stealingthebreathfrommylungs.Imogenisn’tabiggirl.She’sthin,butshehasgreatheight,whichmusthavecomefromherfather’ssidesinceAlicewaspetite.She’stallerthanIeverrealizednowthatshe’sstandingsocloselybesideme.Sheleansdownandbreathesintomyear,“Staythefuckoutofmyroom,”givingmeaslightshoveforgoodmeasure.
Andthenshegoes.Shestealsawayfromthebedroom,herfeetnoiselessonthewoodenfloorsastheymusthavebeenwhensheletherselfintoourroom.
Ilieinbed,sleeplessandalert,listeningvigilantlyforhertoreturn.
Howlongitgoesonthisway,Idon’tknow,untileventuallyIgiveintomydrowsinessandslipbacktomydream.
SADIE
Igoduringmylunchbreak.Itrytobesubtleaboutit,slippingoutthedoorwhenIthinknooneiswatching.ButJoycespotsmeanywayandasks,“Takingoffonusagain?”withanedgetohervoicethatsuggestsshedoesn’tapproveofmeleaving.
“I’mjustgrabbingaquicklunch,”Itellher,thoughI’mnotsurewhyIliewhenthetruthmighthavebeenbetter.
Joyceasks,“Whencanweexpectyouback?”andItellher,“Inanhour.”
Shegruntsatthatandsays,“I’llseeitwhenIbelieveit,”whichisbynomeansafairassessmentofme—thatIletmylunchbreaksdragonlongerthantheallottedhour.Butthere’snopointinarguing.Igoanyway,stillanxiousaboutfindingImogeninourbedroomlastnight.ShemusthaveknownassoonasshefoundmywineglassthatI’dbeeninherroom.Shecouldhavecomerightthenandtoldme.Butshedidn’t.Insteadshewaitedhours,untilIwasdeadasleep,totellme.Shewantedtoscareme.Thatwasherintent.
Imogenisn’tsomeingenuouschild.She’squitecunning.
Ifindmycarintheparkinglotanddrive.Itriedtotalkmyselfoutofgoingtothememorialservice.AtfirstIthoughtthattherewasreallynoreasontogo,otherthanmydesiretoseeJeffreyBaines.We’velivedinourhomeforalittlewhilenow,andinthattime,I’venevergottenagoodlookattheman.ButIcan’tshaketheideathathekilledhiswife.Formysafetyandthesafetyofmyfamily,Ineedtoknowwhoheis.Ineedtoknowwhomyneighborsare.Ineedtoknowifwe’resafewiththismanlivingjustacrossthestreetfromus.
TheMethodistchurchiswhitewithatallsteeple,asharplyhonedspire.Fourmodeststainedglasswindowslineeachsideofthebuilding.Thechurchissmall,yourarchetypical,provincialchurch.Matchingevergreenwreathshangfromnailsonthedoubledoors,adornedwithredbows.Thesceneischarming.Thesmalllotisjammedwithcars.Iparkonthestreet,followothersinsidethebuilding.
Thememorialserviceisbeingheldinthefellowshiphall.Tenorfifteenroundtablesfillthespace,coveredinwhitelinens.There’sabanquettableatthefrontoftheroomand,onit,traysofcookies.
Iwalkwithpurpose;Ihaveasmuchrighttobehereasanyoneelse,nomatterwhatWillsaid.AwomanI’veneverseenbeforereachesouttoshakemyhandasIstepintotheroom.Shethanksmeforcoming.There’sahandkerchiefcrumpledinherhand.She’sbeencrying.ShetellsmesheisMorgan’smother.SheaskswhoIam.“Sadie,”Isay,“aneighbor,”followedwithdeferenceby,“I’msosorryforyourloss.”
Thewomanisolderthanmebytwentyorthirtyyears.Herhairisgray,herskinaroadmapofwrinkles.She’strim,dressedinablackdressthatgoesjustpastherknees.Herhandiscoldand,assheshakesmine,Ifeelthehandkerchiefpressbetweenourhands.“Itwassweetofyou,”shesays,“tocome.Itmakesmehappy,knowingmyMorganhadfriends.”
Iblanchatthatbecauseofcourseweweren’tfriends.Butthat’ssomethinghergrievingmotherneedn’tknow.“Shewasalovelywoman,”Isayforlackofanythingbettertosay.
Jeffreystandsfivefeetback,speakingwithanoldercouple.Truthbetold,helooksbored.HedisplaysnoneofthesamegriefthatMorgan’smotheropenlydisplays.Hedoesn’tcry.It’samasculinething,notcrying.ThatIunderstand.Andgriefcanmanifestitselfinmanyways,asidefromcrying.Anger,disbelief.ButIseenoneofthisinJeffreyashepatstheoldmanontheback,unleashesalaugh.
I’veneverbeenthisclosetohimbefore.I’venevergottenagoodlookathimuntilnow.Jeffreyisapolishedman,tallandrefined,withasuavethatchofdarkhairthatcombsupandbackward.Hisfeaturesaredark,hiseyeshiddenbehindapairofbold,thick-rimmedglasses.Hissuitisblack.It’sbeentailoredforhim.He’squitehandsome.
Theoldercouplemoveson.ItellMorgan’smotheroncemorehowsorryIamandsteppasther.ImovetoJeffrey.Hetakesmyhandintohis.Hishandshakeisfirm,hishandtepid.“JeffreyBaines,”hesays,holdingmystare,andItellhimwhoIam,howmyhusbandandIlivewithourfamilyjustacrossthestreetfromhim.
“Ofcourse,”Jeffreysays,thoughIdoubthe’severpaidattentiontothegoings-onacrossthestreet.Hestrikesmeasoneofthosesavvybusinessmenwhoknowhowtoworkaroom,adeptatthefineartofschmoozing.Onthesurface,he’scharming.
Butunder,there’smorethatIcan’tsee.
Hetellsme,“Morganwasthrilledtohavenewbloodonthestreet.Shewouldhaveappreciatedyourbeinghere,Sandy,”hesays,andIcorrecthimandsay,“Sadie.”
“Yes,that’sright.Sadie,”hesays,tryingitonforsize.He’sself-deprecatingasameansofapology.“Iwasneveranygoodwithnames,”hesaysasheletsgoofmyhandandIdrawitback,foldingmyhandstogetherbeforeme.
“Mostpeoplearen’t,”Itellhim.“Thismustbeaveryhardtimeforyou,”Isay,ratherthanthestandardI’msosorryforyourlossThatfeelscommonplace,asentimentthat’sbeingechoedoverandoveragainaroundtheroom.“Yourdaughter.Shemustbedevastated,”Isay,mybodylanguagetryingitsbesttobesympathetic.Idropmyhead,furrowmyeyebrows.“Ican’timaginewhatshemustbegoingthrough.”
ButJeffrey’sresponseisunexpected.“I’mafraidsheandMorganwereneverclose”iswhathesays.“Theupshotofdivorce,Isuppose,”hetellsme,makinglightofit,de-emphasizingthefactthathisdaughterandwifedidn’tgetalong.“Nowomanwouldeveroutshinehermother,”hesays,andIreply,“Oh,”becauseIcanthinkofnothingelsetosay.
IfWillandIwereevertodivorceandhetoremarry,I’dhopetheboyswouldlovememorethantheirstepmother.AndyetMorganwasmurdered.She’sdead.Thelittlegirlfoundher.Thenonchalancesurprisesme.“Isshehere?”Iask.“Yourdaughter.”
Hetellsmeno.Hisdaughterisinschool.It’sodd,thefactthatshe’satschoolwhileherstepmotherisbeingmourned.
Mysurpriseisvisible.
Heexplains,“Shewassickearlierthisyear.PneumoniathatlandedherinthehospitalonIVantibiotics.HermotherandIwouldhateforhertomissanymoreschool.”
I’mnotsurehisexplanationmakesitbetter.
“It’ssohardtogetcaughtup”isallIcancomeupwithinapinch.
Jeffreythanksmeforcoming.Hesays,“Helpyourselftocookies,”beforelookingpastmetothenextinline.
Igotothecookietable.Ihelpmyselftooneandfindatabletosit.It’sawkwardsittingaloneinaroomwherenearlynooneisalone.Everyonehascomewithsomeoneelse.Everyonebutme.IwishthatWillwerehere.Heshouldhavecome.Manyofthepeopleintheroomcry,quiet,suppressedcries.OnlyMorgan’smotherisunreservedabouthergrief.
Twowomenbrushupbehindmejustthen.Theyaskifthevacantseatsatthetablearebeingsaved.“No,”Itellthem.“Please,helpyourself,”andtheydo.
Oneofthewomenasks,“WereyouafriendofMorgan?”Shehastoleanintowardmebecauseit’sloudintheroom.
Awaveofreliefwashesoverme.I’mnolongeralone.
Isay,“Neighbors.Andyou?”asIscootmyfoldingchaircloser.They’veleftemptyseatsbetweenthemselvesandme,whichissociallyappropriate.Andyetitmakesithardtohear.
Oneofthewomentellsmethatthey’reoldfriendsofPatty’s,Morgan’smother.Theytellmetheirnames—KarenandSusan—andItellthemmine.
“PoorPattyisjustawreck,”Karensays,“asyoucanimagine.”
Itellherhowunfathomablethisallis.Wesighanddiscusshowchildrenaresupposedtolosetheirparentsfirstandnottheotherwayaround.Thewayit’shappenedwithMorgangoesagainstthenaturalorderofthings.IthinkofOttoandTate,ifanythingbadweretoeverhappentoeitherofthem.Ican’timagineaworldinwhichWillandIdon’tdiefirst.Idon’twanttoimagineaworldlikethat,wherethey’regoneandI’mleftbehind.
“Andnotjustonce,buttwice,”Susansays.Theothernodsgrimly.Ibobmyheadalongwiththem,butIdon’tknowwhattheymeanbythis.I’monlyhalflistening.MyattentionisfocusedonJeffreyBainesandthewayhegreetsmournersastheycomeby.There’sasmileonhisfaceashereceivespeople,reachingthatwarmhandouttoshaketheirs.Thesmileisunbecomingfortheoccasion.Hiswifewasjustmurdered.Heshouldn’tbesmiling.Ifnothingelse,heshouldmakeanefforttoappearsad.
IstarttowonderifJeffreyandMorganargued,orifitwasindifferencethatdidthemin.Indifference,asentimentevenworsethanhate.Iwonderifshedidsomethingtoupsethim,orifhesimplywantedherdead,thedissolutionoftheirmarriagewithoutanastybattle.Ormaybeitwasaboutmoney.Alifeinsurancepolicytobepaidout.
“Pattywasneverthesameafterthat,”Susanissaying.
MyeyesgotoherasKarenreplies,“Idon’tknowwhatshe’lldonow,howshe’llgetthrough.Losingonechildisbadenough,butlosingtwo?”
“It’sunthinkable,”Susansays.Shereachesintoherhandbagforatissue.She’sbeguntocry.ShereminiscesonhowdistraughtPattywasthefirsttimethishappened,howweekswentbythatshecouldn’tgetoutofbed.Howshelostweightbecauseofit,fartoomuchforawomanwhodoesn’thaveanyextraweighttospare.Ilookatthewoman,Patty,standingattheheadofthereceivingline.Sheisgaunt.
“Thiswillruin—”Karenbegins,butbeforeshecanfinish,awomansweepsinthroughthedoor,makingherwaytowardJeffrey.Asshedoes,thesmiledisappearsfromhisface.
“Oh,”IhearKarensayunderherbreath.“Ohmy.Susan.Lookwho’shere.”
Wealllook.ThewomanistalllikeJeffrey.She’sthin,dressedshamelesslyinredwhilenearlyeveryoneelseintheroomisindarkormutedtones.Herhairislonganddark.Itfallsdownherbackoveraredtopthat’sfloralanddrapeyandhasanotchednecklinethatrevealsahintofcleavage.Herpantsaretight.Overherarmhangsawintercoat.ShestopsjustshortofJeffreyandsayssomethingtohim.Heattemptstotakeherbythearm,toleadherfromtheroom,butshe’llhavenopartofthat.Shepullssharplyback.Heleansintoher,sayssomethingquietly.Sheputsherhandsonherhips,takesonadefensiveposture.Pouts.
“Who’sthat?”Iask,unabletotakemyeyesoffthewoman.
Theytellme.ThisisCourtney.Jeffrey’sfirstwife.
“Ican’tbelievethatshewouldshowuphere,ofallplaces,”Susansays.
“Maybeshejustwantedtopayherrespects,”Karensuggests.
Susanharrumphs.“Highlydoubtful.”
“Itakeitthemarriagedidn’tendonfriendlyterms,”Isay,thoughitdoesn’tneedtobesaid.Whatmarriageendsamicably?
Theladiesexchangealookbeforetheytellme.“Ithoughtitwascommonknowledge,”Susansays.“Ithoughteveryoneknew.”
“Knewwhat?”Iask,andtheyshiftseats,gettingridoftheemptyoneinbetween,andtellmehowJeffreywasmarriedtoCourtneywhenheandMorganmet.Thattheirmarriagestartedasanaffair.Morganwashismistress,theyconfess,whisperingthatword,mistress,asifit’sdirty.Abadword.JeffreyandMorganworkedtogether;shewashisadministrativeassistant.Hissecretary,asclichéasthatsounds.“Theymet,theyfellinlove,”Susansays.
ThewayMorgan’smothertoldittothem,Jeffreyandhisthen-wife,Courtney,hadbeenateachother’sthroatsforalongtime.Morganwasn’ttheonetobreakuptheirmarriage.Itwasalreadybroken.Theirmarriagehadalwaysbeenvolatile:twolike-mindedpeoplewhoconstantlyclashed.WhatMorgantoldherintheearlydaysoftheiraffairwasthatJeffreyandCourtneycouldbothbestubbornandhotheaded.OverwhelminglytypeA.Morgan’sdemeanor,ontheotherhand,wasthebetterfitforJeffrey.
IturnbacktoJeffreyandhisex.Theexchangeisheatedandbrief.Shesayssomethingcurt,thenturnsandleaves.
Ithinkthat’sitthen.That’sall.
IwatchasJeffreyturnstothenextinline.Heforcesasmileandreachesouthishand.
Theladiesbesidemegobacktotheirgossip.Ilistenin,butmyeyesstayonJeffrey.SusanandKarenaretalkingaboutMorganandJeffrey.Abouttheirmarriage.Truelove,Ihear,thoughfromtheexpressiononhisface—detached,dispassionate—Idon’tseeit.Butmaybethisisaformofself-preservation.He’llcrylater,inprivate,oncetherestofusaregone.
“There’snostoppingtruelove,”Karensays.
Athoughtrunsthroughmymindjustthen.Thereisonewaytostopit.
Susanasksifanyonewantsmorecookies.Karensaysyes.Susanleavesandreturnswithaplateofthemforustoshare.TheyreturntotheirconversationaboutPatty,decidetostartupamealtrainforhertobesuresheeats.Ifnooneiscookingforher,it’sliable,inhergrief,thatPattywon’teat.Thisworriesthem.Karenthinksaloudaboutwhatshe’llmake.Shehasapotpierecipeshe’sbeenwantingtotry,butshealsoknowsthatPattyisquitekeenonlasagna.
OnlyIamstillwatchingasJeffrey,aminutelater,excuseshimselfandslipsfromtheroom.
Ipushmychairbackandstand.Thelegsofthechairskidacrossthefloorandtheladieslooksharplyatme,surprisedbymysuddenmovement.
“Anyideawheretherestroomis?”Iask,incanting,“Naturecalls.”Karentellsme.
Thehallwayisrelativelyquiet.Thoughnotalargebuildingbyanymeans,thereareahandfulofhalls,whichlesseninpeoplethefartherIgo.Iturnleftandright,thehallsbecomingvacantbeforeIcometoadeadend.IfindmyselfbacktrackingtowhereIbegan.
Thelobby,whenIreachit,isempty.Everyoneisinsidethefellowshiphall.
Therearetwodoorsbeforeme.Oneforthesanctuary,andonetogooutside.
Idrawopenthedoorstothesanctuarybyaninchortwo,justenoughtoseeinside.Thesanctuaryissmall,poorlylit,castinshadows.Theonlylightcomesfromthefourstainedglasswindowsoneithersideoftheroom.Acrosshangsabovethepulpit,lookingoutatthecolumnsofrigidpews.
Ithinkthatthesanctuaryisempty.Idon’tseethematfirst.I’mabouttoleave,thinkingthey’reoutside,consideringthepossibilitythatthey’renottogetheratall.Thatshe’sleftthebuildingandhe’sintherestroom.
Butthenit’sthemovementIsee.Herhandsriseupsharplyassheshoveshim.
They’retuckedinthefarcorneroftheroom.CourtneyhasJeffreybackedagainstawall.Hereachesouttostrokeherhair,butshepusheshimawayagain,hardenoughthatthistime,hecradleshishandagainsthimselfasifinjured.
Theex-wifeslapsJeffreyacrossthefacejustthen.Iflinch,drawingbackfromthedoorwaylikeI’mtheonewho’sbeenhit.Hisheadturnssharplytotheright,thencomesbacktocenter.Iholdmybreathandit’sonlybecausesheraiseshervoicethenthatIhearher,thesewordslouderthanalltherest.“I’mnotsorryforwhatIdid,”sheconfesses.“Shetookeverythingfromme,Jeff.Everydamnthing,andsheleftmewithnothing.Youcan’tblamemefortryingtotakebackwhat’smine.”
Shewaitsabeatbeforesheaddson,“I’mnotsorryshe’sdead.”
Jeffreygrabsaholdofherwrist.Theireyesboreintoeachother.Theirmouthsmove,butthey’requietnow,voicesmuted.Ican’thearwhattheysay.ButIcanimagine,andwhatIimagineishatefulandbarbed.
Itakeacarefulstepintotheroom.Iholdmybreath,sharpenmyfocus,trydesperatelytohomeinonwhattheysay.Atfirst,Ijustbarelymakeoutphraseslikewon’ttellandneverknowAfanhaskickedonintheroom.Theirvoicesaremutedbythesoundofblowingair.Itdoesn’tgoonlong,thirtysecondsmaybe.ThirtysecondsoftheconversationImiss.Butthenthefanquietsdown,andtheirvoicesrise.Theirwordscomebacktome.
“Whatyoudid,”hebreathesout,shakinghishead.
“Iwasn’tthinking,”sheadmits.“Mytempergotthebestofme,Jeff.Iwasangry,”shesays.“Youcan’tblamemeforbeingangry.”
She’scryingnow,butit’smorewhimperingthananything,asoftcrythatproducesnotears.It’smanipulative.She’stryingtoelicitsympathy.
Ican’ttearmyeyesaway.
He’squietforaminute.They’rebothquiet.
Hesaystoher,voicelightasafeather,“I’vealwayshatedtoseeyoucry.”
Hesoftens.Theybothdo.
Hestrokesherhairforasecondtime.Thistime,sheleansintohistouch.Shedoesn’tpushhimaway.Shestepsclosertohim.Hisarmsencirclethesmallofherback.Hedrawsherintohim.Shewrapsherarmsaroundhisneck,herheadfallingtohisshoulder.Foraninstant,she’sdemure.Theystandatnearlythesameheight.Ican’thelpbutwatchastheyembrace.Becausewhatwassavageandcutthroatonlysecondsagoisnowsomehowstrangelysweet.
Thepingofmyphonestartlesme.Ipullsharplyback,droppingthedoor.Itclicksloudlyshut,andforasplitsecond,mykneeslock.Adeerinheadlights.
Ihearmovementontheothersideofthesanctuarydoor.
They’recoming.
Igetaholdofmyself.
IwalkquicklythroughthedoublechurchdoorsandoutsideintothebitterDecemberday.Whenmyfeetreachthechurchsteps,Ibegintorun.
Ican’tletJeffreyorhisex-wifeknowitwasme.
Idashformycarparkedonthestreet.Iopenthedoorandquicklygetin,eyeslockedonthechurchdoorstoseeifanyonehasfollowedmeout.Ilockthecardoors,gratefulforthemechanicalclickthatsaysI’mtuckedsafelyinside.
OnlythendoIpeerdownatmyphonescreen.
It’satextmessagefromJoyce.Icheckthetimeonmyphone.It’sbeenoveranhoursinceIleft.Sixty-fourminutes,tobeprecise.Joyceiscountingthemall.
You’relate,shesays.Yourpatientsarewaitingforyou.
MyeyesrisebackuptothechurchdoorstoseeJeffreyBaines’sex-wife,nottwentysecondslater,stepcircumspectlyoutside.Shelooksleftandthenrightbeforejoggingdownthechurchsteps,pressingtheplacketsofablack-and-whitehoundstoothcoattogethertostaveoffthecold.
Myeyesfollowhertohercar,aredJeepparkedjustdownthestreet.Shetugsopenthedoorandslidesinside,slammingthedoorshutbehindherself.
IglancebackatthechurchtoseeJeffreystandingintheopendoorway,watchingassheleaves.
SADIE
There’sacargovaninthedrivewhenIgethomethatnight.Ipullupbesideit,parkmycarbehindWill’s.Ireadtheletteringonthevan,relievedWillishavingthefurnacereplaced.
Igotothefrontdoor.ThehouseisatfirstquietwhenIstepin.Thefurnaceiskeptinthedingybasement.Themenaredownthere.
IseeonlyTate,atthecoffeetablewithhisLegos.HewavesatmeandIstepoutofmyshoes,leavingthembythedoor.IgotoTateandgivehimakissonthehead.
“Howwasyour—”Ibegin,butbeforeIgettherestofthewordsout,thesoundofangryvoicesrisesthroughthefloorboardstous,thoughIcan’tmakeoutwhattheysay.
TateandIexchangealook,andItellhim,“I’llberightback.”Whenhemakesanefforttofollow,Isayfirmly,“Stayhere,”notknowingwhatI’llfindinthebasementwhenIgodown.
Istepcarefullydowntheroughenedwoodenstepstoseewhat’sthematter.I’mnervousasIdo,thinkingonlyofsomestrangemaninourhome.SomestrangemanwhoneitherWillnorIknow.
Mynextthoughtis:Howdoweknowthatthisfurnacemanisnotamurderer?Itdoesn’tfeelfar-fetched,consideringwhat’shappenedtoMorgan.
Thebasementissparse.Thewallsandthefloorareconcrete.It’sharshlylit,onlyaseriesofbarebulbs.
AsIapproachthebottomstep,I’mafraidofwhatI’llfind.ThefurnacemanhurtingWill.Myheartbeatspickupspeed.Icursemyselffornothavingthoughttobringsomethingdowntoprotectmyselfwith.ToprotectWill.Butmypurseisstillwithme,andinsideit,myphone.That’ssomething.Icouldcallforhelpifneedbe.Ireachinside,takeaholdofmyphoneinmyhand.
Myfeetreachthefinalstep.Icautiouslyturn.It’snotasIexpect.
Willhasthefurnacemanpressedintothebasementwall.Hestandsinchesfromhiminawaythatcanonlybeviewedasthreatening.Willdoesn’tholdhimthere—it’snotphysical,notyet—butfromhisproximitytotheman,it’sapparenthecan’tleave.Theman,incontrast,standscomplaisantlybackasWillcallshimaparasite,anopportunist.Willisredinthefacebecauseofit,theveinsofhisneckenlarged.
Hestepssomehowevenclosertothemansothatthemanflinches.Willstabsafingerintohischest.Asecondlaterhegrabsthemanbytheshirtcollarandchides,“IshouldcalltheBBBandreportyou.Justbecauseyou’retheonlyfuckingfurnace—”
“Will!”Isaysternlythen.It’ssounlikeWilltobeprofane.It’salsosounlikeWilltobephysical.I’veneverseenthissideofWill.
“Stopit,Will,”Idemand,asking,“Whatintheworld’sgottenintoyou?”
Willstandsdown,onlybecauseIamhere.Hiseyesdroptotheground.Hedoesn’thavetotellmewhat’shappened.Iknowbycontextclues.Thismanistheonlyfurnacemanontheisland.Becauseofit,hispricesarehigh.Willdoesn’tlikethat.Butthat’snoexcuse.
AsWilltakesastepback,thefurnacemanquicklygathersuphistoolsandflees.
Wedon’tspeak,wedon’tmentionitagainallnight.
Thenextmorning,IwrapthetowelaroundmyselfasIstepfromtheshower.Willstandsstaringathisreflectioninthefogged-upmirrorabovethesink.Thesilveralongtheedgeofitistarnishedbytime.Thebathroom,likeeverythingelseinthehouse,issuffocatingandsmall.
IstareatWillstaringathisownreflectioninthemirror.Hecatchesme.Oureyesmeet.“Howlongdoyouthinkyou’llkeepignoringmelikethis?”heasks,referringtooursilenceintheaftermathofhisblowupwiththefurnaceman.Intheend,themanhadleftwithoutdoingathingandsothehouseisstilluncomfortable.Thefurnacehasbeguntorattle,too.Soonitwillbedead.
I’vebeenwaitingforWilltoapologizeforhisbehaviororatleastacknowledgethatitwaswrong.Iunderstandwhyhe’dhavebeenupset.WhatIdon’tunderstandistheoverreaction.Will’sresponsewasoverthetop,completelyirrational,andsounlikeWill.
ButwhatWillisexpecting,Ithink,isthatI’lljustsweepitundertherugandmoveon.
InsteadIsay,“I’veneverseenyoulikethat,overasillylittlethinglikethecostofafurnace.”
Willisvisiblyhurtbymywords.Hedrawsinabreath,sayswoundedly,“YouknowhowhardItrytotakecareofthisfamily,Sadie.Thisfamilymeanseverythingtome.Iwon’tletanyonetakeadvantageofuslikethat.”
Whenhesaysitlikethis,Iseeitdifferently.AndsoonIamtheoneapologizing.
Hedoessomuchtocareforus.IshouldonlybethankfulthatWillhaddonehisresearch,thathewasn’twillingtoletthefurnacemanprice-gougeuslikethat.Willwasprotectingourfinances,ourfamily.That’smoneythatcouldotherwisebespentongroceries,onthekids’collegeeducationfunds.I’msogratefulhehadboththeknowledgeandtheintrepiditytoprotectit.Ifit’dbeenme,Iwouldhaveunknowinglythrownhundredsofdollarsaway.
“You’reright,”Itellhim.“You’reabsolutelyright.I’msosorry,”Isay.
“It’sokay,”hesays,andIcanseeinhisdemeanorthatheforgivesme.“Let’sjustforgetithappened,”andlikethat,it’sforgotten.
Willstilldoesn’tknowthatIwenttothememorialserviceyesterday.Ican’tbringmyselftotellhimbecausehethoughtweshouldn’tgo.Idon’twanthimtobemadthatIwent.
ButIcan’tstopthinkingaboutthestrangeexchangeIwitnessedinthechurchsanctuary,betweenJeffreyandhisex-wife.IwishIcouldtalktoWillaboutit,tellhimwhatIsaw.
Aftersheleftthememorialservice,Ifollowedtheex-wifeinmycar.IdidaU-turninthestreet,tailingtheredJeepbythirtyfeetasshedrovethethreeblockstotheferry.IfCourtneyknewIwasthere,followingher,therewasnoreaction.Isat,idlinginthestreetfortenminutesorso.Shesatinhercar,onthephonethewholewhile.
Whentheferryarrived,shepulledhercarontotheship.Momentslater,shedisappearedouttosea.Shewasgone.Andyetshestayedwithme,inmymind.She’swithmestill.Ican’tstopthinkingabouther.AboutJeffrey.Abouttheiraltercation,abouttheirembrace.
I’malsothinkingaboutImogen.Abouthersilhouetteinthecornerofmybedroomatnight.
Willrunshisfingersthroughhishair,hisversionofacomb.Ihearhisvoice,talkingoverthesoundofthebathroomfan.He’stellingmethatthiseveninghe’stakingTatetoaLegoseventatthepubliclibrary.They’regoingwithanotherboyfromschool,oneofTate’splaydatebuddies.Himandhismother.Jessicaishername,oneWillcasuallydropsinthemiddleoftheconversation,andit’sthecasualnessofit,thefamiliarityofhername,thatrubsmethewrongway,makesmeforgetforjustthismomentaboutJeffreyandhisex,aboutImogen
Foryears,Willhasbeentheschedulerofplaydatesforourboys.Before,itneverbotheredme.Ifanything,IfeltgratefulWillpickedupthetaskinmyabsence.Afterschool,theboys’classmatesandtheirmotherswouldcomearoundtothecondowhenIwasatwork.WhatIimaginedwastheboysdisappearingdownthehalltoplaywhileWillandsomewomanIdidn’tknowsataroundmykitchentable,hobnobbingabouttheothermothersattheelementaryschool.
Ineversawthesewomen.Ineverwonderedwhattheylookedlike.Buteverythingisdifferentsincetheaffair.NowIfindmyselfoverthinkingthesethings.
“Justthefourofyou?”Iask.
Hetellsmeyes,justthefourofthem.“Buttherewillbeotherpeoplethere,Sadie,”hesays,tryingtobereassuring,andyetitcomesoffassarcastic.“It’snotlikeit’saprivateevent,justforus.”
“Ofcourse,”Isay.“Whatwillyoubedoingthere?”Iask,lighteningmytone,tryingnottosoundlikeaharpy,becauseIknowhowmuchTatelovesLegos.
Willtellsmethatthey’llbebuildingsomethingfromthosetinybricksIfindscatteredalloverthehouse,erectingridesandmachinesthatmove.“Tatecan’twait.Andbesides,”hesays,turningawayfromthemirrortofaceme,“itmightdoOtto,Imogenandyousomegood,afewhoursalone.Bondingtime,”hecallsit,andIharrumphatthat,knowingtherewillbenobondingbetweenOtto,Imogenandmetonight.
Isteppasthim.Imovefromthebathroomandintotheadjoiningbedroom.Willfollowsalong.Hesitsontheedgeofthebed,pullingonapairofsocksasIgetdressed.
Thedaysaregettingcolder.Thecoldnessleaksintotheclinicthroughthedoorandwindows.Thewallsareporous,thedoorstotheclinicalwaysopeningandclosing.Everytimeapatientwalksinorout,thecoldaircomeswiththem.
Idigintoaheapingpileoflaundry,searchingforabrowncardigan,oneofthoseversatilethingsthatgowithnearlyeverything.Thesweaterisn’tmine.ItbelongedtoAlice.Itwasinthehomewhenwearrived.Thesweateriswellloved,worn,whichishalfthereasonIlikeit.It’sslightlymisshapen,coveredinpills,withawide,ribbedshawlcollarandbigapronpocketsIcansinkmyhandsinto.Fourfauxshellbuttonslinethefrontofit.It’sclose-fittingbecauseAlicewassmallerthanme.
“Haveyouseenmysweater?”Iask.
“Whatsweater?”Willasks.
“Thebrownone,”Isay.“Thecardigan.TheonethatwasAlice’s.”
Willsayshehasn’tseenit.Hedoesn’tlikethesweater.HealwaysthoughtitwasoddthatIlaidclaimtothesweaterinthefirstplace.Where’dyougetthat?heaskedthefirsttimeIappearedwithiton.
Thecloset.Upstairs,Isaid.Itmusthavebeenyoursister’s.
Really?heasked.Youdon’tthinkthat’skindof—Idon’tknow—morbid?Wearingadeadperson’sclothes?
ButbeforeIcouldrespond,TatewasaskingwhatmorbidmeantandIlefttheroomtoavoidthatconversation,leavingittoWilltoexplain.
NowIfindanothersweaterinthelaundrytowear,andslipitovertheblouse.Willsits,watchinguntilI’mthroughgettingdressed.Thenherisesfromthebedandcomestome.HewrapshisarmsaroundmywaistandtellsmenottoworryaboutJessica.Heleansin,whispersintomyear,“Shedoesn’tstandachancenexttoyou,”makingapoorattemptathumor,tellingmethatJessicaisahag,thatshebathesinfrequently,thathalfofherteetharemissing,thatspitcomesflyingoutofhermouthwhenshetalks.
Iforceasmile.“Shesoundslovely,”Isay.ThoughstillIwonderwhytheyhavetodrivetogether,whytheycan’tjustmeetatthelibrary.
Willleansfartherintome,breathesintomyear,“MaybeaftertheLegosevent,afterthekidsareinbed,youandIcanhavesomebondingtime,too.”Andthenhekissesme.
WillandIhaven’tbeenintimatesincetheaffair.Becauseeverytimehetouchesme,allIcanthinkofisherandIbristleasaresult,nippinganysuggestionofintimacyinthebud.Icouldn’tstakemylifeonit,butIwassureshewasastudent,someeighteen-ornineteen-year-oldgirl.Sheworelipstick,thatIknew.Hot-pinklipstickandunderwearthatwasflimsyandsmall,leavingitinmybedroomwhensheleft,whichmeantthatshehadtheaudacitytonotonlysleepwithamarriedmanbuttoparadearoundsansunderwear.TwothingsIwouldneverdo.
IoftenwonderedifshecalledhimProfessor,oriftoher,hewasalwaysWill.OrmaybeProfessorFoust,butIdoubtedthatsomehow.Thatseemedfartooformalforamanyou’resleepingwith,evenifheistwentyyearsyoursenior,afatheroftwowithtracesofgrayinhishair.
Ithoughtalotaboutaudaciousyoungwomen.Aboutwhatonemightlooklike.Pixiecutscametomind,asdidlow-cutblouses,midriffbared;shortssoshortthepocketshungoutfrombelow.Fishnetstockings,combatboots.Dyedhair.
ButmaybeIwaswrongaboutthat.Maybeshewasaself-deprecatingyoungwoman,shy,lackinginself-respect.Maybethemarginalattentionofamarriedmanwasallshehadgoingforher,ormaybesheandWillhadaconnectionthatwentbeyondsexandtoalike-mindeddesiretosavetheworld.
Inwhichcase,IthinkshedidcallhimProfessorFoust
IneveraskedWillwhatshelookedlike.Idid,andatthesametimedidn’t,wanttoknow.Intheend,Idecidedthatignoranceisblissandneverasked.Hewouldhavejustliedanywayandtoldmetherewasn’tanotherwoman.Thatitwasonlyme.
Ifitwasn’tfortheboys,ourmarriagemayhaveendedindivorceaftertheaffair.I’dsuggesteditonce,thatmaybeWillandIwouldbebetteroffifwegotadivorce,thattheboyswouldbebetteroff.
“God,no,”WilltoldmewhenI’dsuggestedit.“No,Sadie,no.Yousaidthatwouldneverhappentous.Thatwe’dbetogetherforever,thatyouwouldneverletmego.”
IfIsaidthat,Ididn’tremember.Eitherway,that’sthetypeofridiculousnonsensepeoplesaywhenthey’refallinginlove;itdoesn’tpassmusterinamarriage.
There’sasmallpartofmethatblamedmyselffortheaffair.ThatbelievedI’dbeentheonetopushWillintothearmsofanotherwoman,becauseofwhoIam.Iblamedmycareer,whichrequiresthatIbedetached.Thatdetachment,theabsenceofanemotionalinvolvement,worksitswayintoourmarriageattimes.Intimacyandvulnerabilityaren’tmystrongsuit,norhavetheyeverbeen.Willthoughthecouldchangeme.Turnsouthewaswrong.
SADIE
WhenIpullintotheclinicparkinglot,I’mgratefultofinditempty.JoyceandEmmawillbeheresoon,butfornowit’sonlyme.MytiresskidonthepavementasImakeasharpleftturnintomyspot,searchingtheadjacentstreetforsignsofhighbeams.
Istepfromthecarandmakemywayacrosstheparkinglot.Thisearlyintheday,theworldisasphyxiatedbyfog.Theairaroundmeismurky,likesoup.Ican’tseewhat’sfivefeetinfrontofme.Mylungsareheavy,andsuddenlyIdon’tknowforcertainifI’maloneorifthere’ssomeoneoutthereinthefog,watchingme.StandingjustbeyondthosefivefeetwhereIcan’tsee.AchillcreepsupmyspineandIshiver.
Ifindmyselfjoggingtothedoor,plungingthekeyintothelocktoletmyselfin.Ipushthedoorclosedbehindme,andturnthedeadboltbeforemakingmywayinside.Imovedownthenarrowhallandtothereceptionarea,Emma’sdomain.
BeforeIarrived,therewasanotherdoctorinmyplace,alongtimeresidentoftheislandwhowentonmaternityleaveandnevercameback.JoyceandEmmaoftenstandandpassbabyphotosaroundandlamenthowmuchtheymisshavingAmandahere.Theyholdmeresponsibleforherleave,asifit’smyfaultshehadthatbabyanddecidedtogivemotherhoodago.
WhatI’vecometodiscoveristhattheislandresidentsdon’ttakewelltonewcomers.Notunlessyou’reachildlikeTateorgregariouslikeWill.Ittakesararebreedtochoosetoliveonanisland,isolatedfromtherestoftheworld.Manyoftheresidentswhoaren’tretiredhavesimplychosenseclusionasawayoflife.They’reself-reliant,autonomous,andalsoinsular,moody,obstinateandaloof.Manyareartists.Thetownislitteredwithpotteryshopsandgalleriesbecauseofthem,makingitculturedbutalsopretentious.
Thatsaid,communityisimportantbecauseoftheisolationthatcomeswithislandliving.Thedifferencebetweenthemandmeisthattheychosetobehere.
Irunahandalongthewall,feelingforthelightswitch.Thelightsabovemecometolifewithahum.There,onthewallbeforeme,sitsalargedry-erasecalendar,Dr.Sanders’sandmyworkschedule.Emma’sbrainchild.Thescheduleisarbitraryandirregular;Dr.SandersandIarenotslatedtoworkthesamedaysfromweektoweek.Ifthere’sanymethodtothemadness,Ican’tseeit.
Igotothecalendar.Theinkissmudged,butstillIseewhatitisthatI’mlookingfor.Myname,Foust,writtenunderthedateDecemberfirst.ThesamedayMr.NilssonsupposedlysawMorganBainesandmearguing.ThesamedayMr.NilssonsaysIsavagelytoreahandfulofhairfromthewoman’shead.
AccordingtoEmma’scalendar,onDecemberfirstIwasscheduledtoworkashiftthatspannedninehours,fromeightinthemorningtofivethatnight.Inwhichcase,IwashereattheclinicwhenMr.NilssonswearsIwasoutsidetheBaineses’home.Ifindmyphoneinmybagandsnapaphotoofitforproof.
IsitdownattheL-shapeddesk.Therearenotesstucktoit.AreminderforEmmatoordermoreprinterink.ForDr.Sanderstocallapatientbackwithtestresults.Oneofourpatientsismissingherdoll.Hermother’sphonenumberisonthedesk,witharequesttocallifthedollisfound.Thecomputerpasswordisthere,too.
Irevivethecomputer.Ourfilesarestoredonmedicalsoftware.Idon’tknowforcertainthatMr.Nilssonisapatientoftheclinic,butnearlyeveryoneonthisislandis.
Thereareanynumberofeyedisordersthataffecttheelderly,frompresbyopiatocataractsandglaucoma,allthewaytomaculardegeneration,oneoftheleadingcausesofblindnessinolderadults.It’spossibleMr.Nilssonsuffersfromoneofthese,andthat’sthereasonhethoughthesawmewithMrs.Baines.Becausehecouldn’tsee.Ormaybehe’sbeguntoexhibittheearlysignsofAlzheimer’sdiseaseandwasconfused.
Iopenthecomputerprogram.IsearchforthemedicalrecordsofGeorgeNilsson,andsureenough,they’rethere.I’mquitecertainthisviolatesHIPAAlaws,andyetIdoitregardless,eventhoughI’mnotMr.Nilsson’sphysician.
Iscanhismedicalrecords.Icometodiscoverthathe’sdiabetic.Thathetakesinsulin.Hischolesterolishigh;hetakesstatinstokeepitincheck.Hispulseandbloodpressurearefineforamanhisage,thoughhesuffersfromkyphosis,whichIalreadyknew.Mr.Nilssonisahunchback.It’spainfulanddisfiguring,anoffshootofosteoporosisseenfarmoreofteninwomenthanmen.
Noneofthisinterestsme.
WhatIfindsurprisingisthatMr.Nilsson’svisionisfine.Dr.SandersnotesnoconcernsaboutMr.Nilsson’scognitiveabilities.AsfarasIcantell,he’sofsoundmind.Hismentalfacilitiesaren’tfailinghimandhe’snotgoingblind,whichtakesmerightbacktowhereIbegan.
WhydidMr.Nilssonlie?
Iclosetheprogram.Imovethemousetotheinternet,doubleclicking.Itopensbeforeme.Itypeinaname,CourtneyBaines,andonlyasIpressEnterdoesitoccurtometowonderifshe’sstillaBainesorif,afterthedivorce,sherevertedtoamaidenname.Ormaybeshe’sremarried.Butthere’snotimetofindout.
Fromdownthehall,thebackdooropens.IhavejustenoughtimetoXoutoftheinternetandstepbackfromthedeskbeforeJoyceappears.
“Dr.Foust,”shesays,fartoomuchanimosityinhertoneforeighto’clockinthemorning.“You’rehere,”shetellsmeasifthisissomethingIdon’talreadyknow.“Thedoorwaslocked.Ididn’tthinkanyonewashere.”
“I’mhere,”Isay,moreperkythanImeantobe.“Wantedtogetaheadstartontheday,”Iexplain,realizingshe’saseasilyputoffwhenI’mearlyaswhenI’mlate.Icandonorightinhereyes.
MOUSE
Onceuponatimetherewasawoman.HernamewasFakeMom.Thatwasn’therrealname,ofcourse,butthatwaswhatMousecalledher,thoughonlyeverbehindherback.
FakeMomwaspretty.Shehadniceskin,longbrownhairandabig,easysmile.Sheworeniceclothes,likecollaredshirtsandsparklytops,whichshe’dtuckintothewaistbandofherjeanssothatitdidn’tlooksloppylikewhenMouseworejeans.ShealwayslookedputtogetherinawaythatMousedidnot.Shealwayslookednice.
Mouseandherfatherdidn’twearniceclothesexceptforwhenitwasChristmasorwhenherfatherwasgoingtowork.Mousedidn’tthinkniceclotheswerecomfortable.Theymadeithardtomove.Theymadeherarmsandlegsfeelstiff.
Mousedidn’tknowaboutFakeMomuntilthenightshearrived.HerfatherhadnevermentionedherandsoMousegottothinkingheprobablymetFakeMomthatverydayhebroughtherhome.ButMousedidn’taskandherfatherdidn’tsay.
Thenightshearrived,Mouse’sfathercameintothehousethesamewayhealwaysdidwhenhe’dbeengone.Mouse’sfatherusuallyworkedfromtheirhome,intheroomtheycalledhisoffice.Hehadanotheroffice,inabigbuildingsomewhereelsethatMousesawonce,buthedidn’tgothereeverydaylikeotherdadssheknewdidwhentheywenttowork.Insteadhestayedhome,intheroomwiththedoorclosed,talkingtocustomersnearlyalldayonthephone.
Butsometimeshehadtogotohisotheroffice,likehehadthedayhebroughtFakeMomhomewithhim.Andsometimeshehadtogoaway.Thenhe’dbegonefordays.
ThenightthatFakeMomcamehome,hesteppedintothehousealone.Hesethisbriefcasebesidethedoor,hunghiscoatonthehook.Hethankedtheoldercoupleacrossthestreetforkeepinganeyeonher.HewalkedthemtothedoorwithMousetrailingbehind.
Mouseandherfatherwatchedthemmaketheirwayslowlyacrossthestreetandbackhome.Itlookedlikeitwashard.Itlookedlikeithurt.Mousedidn’tthinkthatsheeverwantedtogetold.
Whentheyweregone,herfathershutthedoor.HeturnedtoMouse.Hetoldherhehadasurpriseforher,thatsheshouldclosehereyes.
Mousewassurehersurprisewasapuppy,theoneshehadbeenbeggingforsincethedaytheywalkedpastitinthepetshopwindow,bigandfluffyandwhite.Herfatherhadsaidnoatthetime,thatapuppywastoomuchwork,butmaybehehadchangedhismind.Hedidthatsometimeswhenshereallywantedsomething.BecauseMousewasagoodgirl.Hedidn’tspoilher,buthedidlikeknowingshewashappy.Andapuppywouldmakehervery,veryhappy.
Mousepressedherhandstohereyes.Forwhateverreason,sheheldherbreath.Shelistenedintentlyforthesoundofyapsandwhimperscomingfromtheotherendoftheroomwhereherfatherwasstanding.Buttherewerenoyapsorwhimpers.
Whatsheheardinsteadwasthesoundofthefrontdooropeningandthenclosingagain.Mouseknewwhy.Herfatherhadgoneoutside,backtohiscartocollectthepuppy.Becauseitwasn’tlikethepuppywashidinginhisbriefcase.Itwasstillinthecar,wherehehadleftitsohecouldsurpriseherwithit.
Asshewaited,agrinspreadacrossMouse’sface.Herkneesshookinexcitement.Shecouldhardlycontainherself.
Mouseheardthedoorclose,herfatherclearhisvoice.
Hewaseagerwhenhespoke.HesaidtoMouse,Openyoureyes,andbeforesheeverlaideyesonhim,sheknewthathewassmiling,too.
Mouse’seyesflungopen,andwithoutmeaningto,herhandshottohermouth.Shegasped,becauseitwasn’tapuppyshesawstandingbeforeherinherownlivingroom.
Itwasawoman.
Thewoman’sthinhandwasholdingMouse’sfather’shand,fingerssplicedtogetherinthatsamewayMousehadseenmenandwomendoitonTV.ThewomanwassmilingwidelyatMouse,hermouthbigandbeautiful.Shesaidhellotothegirl,hervoicesomehowasprettyasherfacewas.Mousesaidnothingback.
ThewomanletgoofMouse’sfather’shand.Shecameforward,bentdowntothegirl’sheight.ThewomanextendedthatsamethinhandtoMouse,butMousedidn’tknowwhattodowithit,soshejuststareddownatthebonyhand,doingnothing.
Mousenoticedthenhowtheairwasdifferentthatnight,moredense,hardertobreathe.
Herfathertoldher,Nowgoon.Don’tberude.Sayhello.Shakeherhand,andMousedid,mumblingafeeblehelloandslippinghertinyhandinsidethewoman’shand.
Mouse’sfatherturnedandhurriedbackoutside.Thewomanfollowedbehind.
Mousewatchedonsilently,staringthroughthewindowasherfatherunloadedbagsofthewoman’sthingsfromhistrunk.Somanythings,Mousedidn’tknowwhattomakeofitall.
Whentheycamebackinside,thewomanslippedacandybaroutfromtheinsideofherpurseandhandedittothegirl.Yourfathersayschocolateisyourfavorite,shesaid,anditwas,secondonlytoSalernoButterCookies.Butchocolatewasasorryconsolationprizeforapuppy.Shewouldhaveratherhadapuppy.Butsheknewbetterthantosaythat.
Mousethoughtaboutaskingthewomanwhenshewasgoingtoleave.Butsheknewbetterthantoaskthat,too,andsoshetookthecandybarfromthewoman’shand.Shehelditinhersweatyhands,feelingitgolimpinhergripasthechocolatestartedtomelt.Shedidn’teatit.Shewasn’thungry,thoughshehadn’thaddinneryet.Shehadnoappetite.
Amongthewoman’smanybelongingswasadogcrate.Thatgotthegirl’sattention.Itwasagood-sizecage.Rightaway,Mousetriedtoimaginewhatkindofdogitmighthold:acollieorabassethoundorabeagle.Shestaredoutthewindowasherfathercontinuedtobringthingsin,wonderingwhenthedogwouldcome.
Where’syourdog?thegirlaskedafterherfatherhadfinishedunloadingthecarandcomebackinside,lockingupbehindhimself.
Butthewomanshookherheadandtoldthegirlsadlythatshedidn’thaveadoganymore,thatherdoghadjustveryrecentlydied.
Thenwhydoyouhaveadogcrate?sheasked,butherfathersaid,That’senough,Mouse.Don’tberude,becausetheycouldbothseethattalkingaboutthedeaddogmadethewomansad
Mouse?thewomanasked,andifMousedidn’tknowanybetter,she’dhavethoughtthewomanlaughed.That’ssomenicknameforalittlegirl.Butthatwasallshesaid.Somenickname.Shedidn’tsayifshelikeditornot.
TheyatedinnerandwatchedTVfromthesofa,butinsteadofsharingthesofawithherfather,asshealwaysdid,Mousesatinachairontheothersideoftheroom,fromwhichshecouldhardlyseetheTV.Itdidn’tmatteranyway;shedidn’tlikewhattheywerewatching.Mouseandherfatheralwayswatchedsports,butinsteadtheyhadonsomeshowwheregrown-upstalkedtoomuchandsaidstuffthatmadethewomanandherfatherlaugh,butnotMouse.Mousedidn’tlaugh.Becauseitwasn’tfunny.
Allthewhile,thewomansatonthesofabyMouse’sfatherinstead.WhenMousedaredtolookover,theyweresittingclose,holdinghandsliketheyhadwhenshefirstarrived.ItmadeMousefeelstrangeinside.Shetriednottolook,buthereyeskeptgoingbackthere,totheirhands.
Whenthewomanexcusedherselftogocleanupforbed,herfatherleanedincloseandtoldthegirlthatitwouldbeniceforhertocallthiswomanMom.Hesaidheknewitmightbestrangeforawhile.Thatifshedidn’twantto,itwasokay.Butmaybeshecouldworkherwayuptoitintime,herfathersuggested.
Thegirlalwaystriedtodoeverythingshecouldtopleaseherfatherbecauseshelovedhimverymuch.Shedidn’twanttocallthisstrangewomanMom—notnow,notever—butsheknewbetterthantoarguewithherfather.Itwouldhurthisfeelingsifshedid,andshedidn’teverwanttohurthisfeelings.
Thegirlalreadyhadamother,andthiswasnother.
Butifherfatherwantedherto,shewouldcallhiswomanMom.Toherfaceanywayandtoherfather’sface.Butinherownhead,shewouldcallthiswomanFakeMom.Thatwaswhatthegirldecided.
Mousewasasmartgirl.Shelikedtoread.Sheknewthingsthatothergirlsheragedidn’tknow,likewhybananasarecurved,andthatslugshavefournoses,andthattheostrichistheworld’sbiggestbird.
Mouselovedanimals.Shealwayswantedapuppy,butshenevergotapuppy.Insteadshegotsomethingelse.BecauseafterFakeMomarrived,herfatherletherpickoutaguineapig.Hediditbecausehethoughtitwouldmakeherhappy.
Theywenttothepetstoretogether.Theminuteshelaideyesonherguineapig,Mousewasinlove.Itwasn’tthesameasapuppy,butitwassomethingspecialstill.Mouse’sfatherthoughtthattheyshouldnamehimBertafterhisfavoritebaseballplayer,BertCampaneris,andMousesaidyestothatbecauseshedidn’thaveanothernameinmind.Andbecauseshewantedtomakeherfatherhappy.
Mouse’sfatherboughtherabookaboutguineapigs,too.ThenightshebroughtBerthome,Mouseclimbedintobed,underthecovers,andreadthebookfromendtoend.Shewantedtobeinformed.Mouselearnedthingsaboutguineapigsthatsheneverknew,likewhattheyeatandwhateverysinglesqueakandsquealmeans.
Shelearnedthatguineapigsaren’trelatedtopigsatall,andtheydon’tcomefromthecountryofGuinea,butfromsomewherehighintheAndesMountains,whichareinSouthAmerica.Sheaskedherfatherforamap,toseewhereSouthAmericawas.HedugoneoutofanoldNationalGeographicmagazineinthebasement,onethathadbeenMouse’sgrandfather’smagazine.Herfatherhadtriedtothrowthemagazinesawaywhenhergrandfatherdied,butMousewouldn’tlethim.Shethoughttheywerefascinating.
MouseputthemaponherbedroomwallwithScotchtape.ShestoodonherbedandfoundtheAndesMountainsonthatmap,drewabigcirclearoundthemwithapurplepen.Shepointedatthecircleonhermap,andtoldherguineapig—inhiscageonthefloorbesideherbed—thatwaswherehecamefrom,thoughsheknewherguineapighadn’tcomefromtheAndesMountainsatall.Hehadcomefromapetstore.
FakeMomwasalwayscallingBertapig.UnlikeMouse,shedidn’treadthebookonguineapigs.Shedidn’tunderstandthatBertwasarodent,notapig,thathewasn’tevenrelatedtopigs.Shedidn’tknowthatheonlygotthatnamebecausehesqueakedlikeapig,andbecauseonceuponatimesomeonethoughtthathelookedlikeapig—thoughhedidn’t.Notatall.Thatsomeone,inMouse’sopinion,waswrong.
MousestoodinthelivingroomandtoldFakeMomallthat.Shedidn’tmeantosoundlikeaknow-it-all.ButMouseknewalotofthings.Sheknewbigwords,andcouldfindfarawayplacesonamap,andcouldsayafewwordsinFrenchandChinese.Sometimesshegotsoexcitedshecouldn’thelpsharingitall.Becauseshedidn’tknowwhatagirlheragewassupposedtoknowandnotknow,andsoshejustsaidwhatsheknew.
Thiswasoneofthosetimes.
Butthistimewhenshedid,FakeMomblinkedhard.ShestaredatMouse,sayingnothing,withafrownonherfaceandadeepwrinkleformingbetweenhereyesaswideasariver.
ButMouse’sfathersaidsomething.
HeruffledMouse’shair,beamedproudlyatherandaskediftherewasanythinginthewholewideworldthatshedidn’tknow.Mousesmiledbackandsheshrugged.Therewerethingsshedidn’tknow,ofcourse.Shedidn’tknowwherebabiescamefrom,andwhytherewerebulliesatschool,andwhypeopledied.Butshedidn’tsaythatbecausesheknewherfatherdidn’treallywanttoknow.Hewasbeingrhetorical,whichwasanotheroneofthosebigwordssheknew.
Mouse’sfatherlookedatFakeMomandasked,She’sreallysomething,isn’tshe?
FakeMomsaid,Shesureis.She’sunbelievable.ButFakeMomdidn’tsmilethesamewayherfatherhad.Notafakesmile,notanykindofsmile.Mousewasn’tsurewhattomakeofthatwordunbelievable,becauseunbelievablecouldmeandifferentthings.
Themomentpassed.Mousethoughtthewholeconversationaboutrodentsandpigswasthrough.
Butlaterthatnight,whenherfatherwasn’tlooking,FakeMomgotdownintoMouse’sfaceandtoldherifsheevermadeherlookstupidagaininfrontofherfather,therewouldbehelltopay.FakeMom’sfacegotallred.Shebaredherteethlikeadogdoeswhenit’smad.Aveinstuckoutofherforehead.Itthrobbed.FakeMomspitwhenshespoke,likeshewassomadshecouldn’tstopherselffromspitting.Likeshewasspittingmad.ShespitonMouse’sfacebutMousedidn’tdareraiseahandtowipeitaway.
Mousetriedtotakeastepback,awayfromFakeMom.ButFakeMomwasholdingontootightlytoMouse’swrist.Mousecouldn’tgetawaybecauseFakeMomwouldn’tletgo.
TheyheardMouse’sfathercomingdownthehallway.FakeMomletgoofMouse’swristquickly.Shestoodstraightup,fluffedherhair,ranherhandsoverhershirttosmoothitdown.Herfacewentbacktoitsnormalshade,andonherlipscameasmile.Andnotjustanysmile,butonethatwasradiant.ShewenttoMouse’sfather,leanedincloseandkissedhim.
Howaremyfavoriteladiesdoing?heasked,ashekissedherback.FakeMomsaidtheywerefine.Mousemumbledsomethingalongthesamelines,thoughnooneheardbecausetheyweretoobusykissing.
MousetoldherrealmomaboutFakeMom.Shesatdownacrossfromherontheedgeoftheredragrugandpouredthembothcupsofpretendtea.There,astheydranktheirteaandnibbledcookies,shetoldherhowshedidn’tlikeFakeMommuch.HowsometimesFakeMommadeMousefeellikeastrangerinherownhome.HowbeinginthesameroomwithFakeMomgaveMouseatummyache.Mouse’srealmomtoldhernottoworry.ShetoldherthatMousewasagoodgirlandthatonlygoodthingshappenedtogoodgirls.I’llneverletanythingbadhappentoyou,herrealmomsaid.
MouseknewhowmuchherfatherlikedFakeMom.Shecouldseeitinthewayhelookedatherhowhappyshemadehim.ItmadeMousefeelsicktoherstomachbecauseFakeMombroughtoutakindofhappythatMousenevercould,eventhoughtheywerehappybeforeFakeMomcame.
IfherfatherlikedhavingFakeMomaround,shemightstayforever.Mousedidn’twantthattohappen.BecauseFakeMommadeheruncomfortablesometimes,andothertimesscared.
NowwhenMousewrotestoriesinherhead,shestartedmakingupstoriesaboutbadthingshappeningtoanimaginarywomannamedFakeMom.Sometimesshefelldownthosesqueakystepsandhitherhead.Sometimesshegotburiedinoneoftherabbitholesbeneaththeclumpsoffurandhairandcouldn’tgetout.
Andsometimesshewasjustgone,andMousedidn’tcarehoworwhy.
SADIE
Thatevening,there’sabitetotheair.Thetemperaturesareplungingquickly.Ipullmycarfromtheparkinglotandheadhome,rememberingthatWillandTateareoffplayingwithLegostonight.Theideaofitconcernsme,ofWillnotbeingaroundtoactasabufferbetweenImogenandme.
ItrynottoletitgetthebestofmeasIdrivehome.Iamabiggirl;Icantakecareofthismyself.Andbesides,WillandIareImogen’sguardians.It’sourlegalobligationtotakecareofheruntilsheturnseighteen.IfIwanttosearchthroughherthings,it’sverymuchinmyrighttodoso.Thatsaid,therearequestionsIhavethatI’dlikeanswersto.Namely,whoisthemaninthephotographthathadhisfacescratchedoffatImogen’shand?IshethesamemanwhowrotethenotetoImogen,theoneIfoundinthepocketofhersweatshirt?ADearJohnnote,Itookittobe.HisreferencetoadoublelifeleadsmetobelievethatImogenwastheotherwoman.Thathewasmarried,maybe,andbrokeherheart.Butwhoishe?
IpullintothedriveandputthecarinPark.IlookaroundbeforeIstepfromthesafetyofthelockedcar,tobesurethatI’malone.Butit’sdarkout,nearlyblack.CanIreallybesure?
Imovequicklyfromthecar.Iscurryintothesafetyofmyhome,whereIcloseandlockthedoorbehindmyself.Itugonittwice,tobesureit’sclosedtight.
Imoveintothekitchen.AcasseroleawaitsmeonthestovetopwhenIstepinside,apieceoffoilfoldedoverthetopofittokeepitwarm.APost-itnoteontop.Xo,itreads.Signed,Will.
Thedogsaretheonlyoneswaitinginthekitchenforme,staringatmewiththeirmatchingsnaggleteeth,beggingtobeletoutside.Iopenthebackdoorforthem.Theymakeabeelinetothecorneroftheyardtodig.
IclimbthecreakystepstofindImogen’sbedroomdoorclosed,thelockonitundoubtedlyturnedsothatIcouldn’tgetinifIwantedto.ExceptthatwhenIlook,there’sanewlockonthedoor,awholesystem—completewithpadlock—thatslipsoverthedoorhandle.Thedoornowlocksfromtheoutsidein.Imogenmusthaveinstalledthisherself,tokeepmeout.
RockbandsthelikesofKornandDrowningPoollashoutovertheBluetoothspeaker,volumeturnedallthewayupsothatthere’snomisinterpretingthesongs’lyrics,deadbodiesarecurringtheme.Theprofanityisatrocious,hatespewingthroughthespeakersandintoourhome.ButTateisn’taroundtohearit,andsothistime,Iletitbe.
IgotoOtto’sdoor,raplightlyandcallout,overthesoundofImogen’snoise,“I’mhome.”
Heopensthedoorforme.IlookatOtto,seeingthewaythathelooksmoreandmorelikeWilleachday.Nowthathe’solder,theanglesofhisfacearesharp.Thereisnomorebabyfattosoftentheedges.He’sgettingtallerallthetime,finallyenjoyingthatgrowthspurtthathasforsolongbypassedhim,keepinghimsmallwhiletheotherboysinschoolgrewtall.Ifnotnow,thensoonhe’llrivaltheirheight.OttoishandsomelikeWill.Innotimeatall,he’llbemakinggirlsswoon.Hejustdoesn’tknowityet.
“Howwasyourday?”Iaskhim,andheshrugsandsays,“Fine.Iguess.”
It’sanindecisivereply.Itakeitasanopportunity.“Youguess?”Iask,wantingmore:toknowhowhisdayreallywent,ifhe’sgettingalongwiththeotherkidsatschool,ifhelikeshisteachers,ifhe’smakingfriends.Whenhesaysnothing,Iprod.“Onascaleofonetoten,howwouldyourateit?”It’ssilly,oneofthosethingsdoctorssaywhenthey’retryingtogaugeapatient’spain.Ottoshrugsagainandtellsmehisdaywasasix,whichranksasmoderate,decent,anokayday.
“Homework?”Iask.
“Some.”
“Needanyhelp?”
Heshakeshishead.Hecandoithimself.
AsImakemywaytoWill’sandmybedroomtochange,Icatchsightofalightdriftingfrombeneaththedoorwaythatleadstothethird-floorattic.Thelightintheatticison,whichitneveris,becauseit’swhereAlicekilledherself.Iaskedtheboysnevertogoupthere.Ididn’tthinkitwasaplaceanyofusneededtobe.
TheboysknowthatAlicegaveusthehouse.Theydon’tknowhowshedied.Theydon’tknowthatoneday,Aliceslippedanoosearoundherneck,securingtheotherendofittotheceiling’ssupportbeam,steppingfromthestool.WhatIknowasaphysicianisthat,afterthenoosetightenedaroundherneckandshewassuspended,supportedonlybyherjawandherneck,shewouldhavestruggledforairagainsttheweightofherownbody.Itwouldhavetakenminutesforhertoloseconsciousness.Itwouldhavebeenextremelypainful.Andevenwhenshefinallydidloseconsciousness,herbodywouldhavecontinuedtothrashabout,takingmuchlongerforhertodie,uptotwentyminutes,ifnotmore.Notapleasantwaytogo.
It’shardforWilltotalkaboutAlice.ThisIcanunderstand.Aftermyfatherpassed,itwashardformetotalkabouthim.Mymemoryisn’tthebest.ButwhatstickswithmemostiswhenIwasaroundelevenyearsold,whenmyfatherandIlivedjustoutsideofChicagoandheworkedforadepartmentstoreinthecity.Dadrodethetraindowntowneverydaybackthen.Iwasoldenoughtokeepwatchovermyselfbythen,alatchkeykid.IwenttoschoolandIcamehome.Noonehadtotellmetodomyhomework.Iwasresponsibleenoughforthat.Imadeandatemyowndinner.Ididmydishes.Iwenttobedatareasonabletime.Mostnights,Dadwouldhaveabeerortwoonthetrainridehome,stoppingatthebarafterhe’ddepartedthetrain,notgettinghomeuntilafterIwasasleep.I’dhearhim,stumblingaroundthehouse,knockingthingsover,andthenextmorningthere’dbeamessformetoclean.
Iputmyselfthroughcollege.Ilivedalone,inasingledormfollowedbyasmallapartment.Itriedlivingwitharoommateonce.Itdidn’tworkforme.TheroommateIhadwascarelessandirresponsible,amongotherthings.Shewasalsomanipulative,acompletekleptomaniac.
ShetookphonemessagesformethatIneverreceived.Shemadeamessofourapartment.Sheatemyfood.Shestolemoneyfrommywallet,checksfrommycheckbook.Sheusedmycreditcardtobuyherselfthings.Shedenieddoingit,ofcourse,butI’dlookatmybankstatementslaterandfindchecksmadeouttoplaceslikehairsalons,departmentstores,cash.WhenIaskedthebanktoproducetheprocessedchecksforme,Icouldclearlyseethatthehandwritingonthemwasnotmine.
Icouldhavepressedcharges.Forwhateverreason,Ichosenotto.
Sheworemyclotheswithoutasking.Shebroughtthembackwrinkledanddirty,sometimesstained,reekingofcigarettesmoke.I’dfindthemhanginginmyclosetlikethat.WhenIaskedheraboutit,she’dgazeatmyfilthyclothingandsay,YouthinkIactuallyworethatuglyshirtofyours?
Becauseontopofeverythingelse,shewasmean.
Iputalockonmybedroomdoor.Thatdidn’tstopher.
Somehow,shestillfoundawayin.I’dcomehomefromanightouttofindmydooropen,mythingsrifledthrough.
Ididn’twanttolivelikethat.
Iofferedtomoveout,toletherkeepourplace.Shewasangrytothepointofbeingcombative.Somethingaboutherscaredme.Shecouldn’taffordtheunitallonherown,shetoldme,seething.Shegotinmyface,toldmeIwascrazy,thatIwasapsychopath.
Iheldmyground.Ididn’tflinch.
Isaidcalmly,Icouldsaythesameaboutyou.
Intheend,shewastheonetoleave.Thatwasbest,seeingasI’drecentlymetWill,andneededaplacewherewecouldhangout.Evenafter,Ihadmysuspicionsthatshewasstilllettingherselfin,goingthroughmythings.She’dgivenmeherkeyback,butthatdidn’tmeanshehadn’ttakenittothehardwarestorefirstandmadeacopyofittokeep.IntimeIhadthelockschanged.That,Itoldmyself,wouldhavetostopher.IfIthoughtshewasstillcomingin,itwasonlymyparanoiaspeaking.
Still,thatwasn’ttheendofher.BecauseIsawhersomesixmonthsagoorso,whenIpassedheronthestreet,notfarfromWill’sandmyhome.Shelookedthesametome,struttingherstuffdownHarrison,justasarrogantasshe’dalwaysbeen.IduckedawaywhenIsawher,slippeddownanotherstreet.
ItwasjustaftergraduationwhenWillandImet,attheengagementpartyofafriend.WillandIhavedifferentversionsofthetimewemet.WhatIknowisthathecameuptomeattheparty,handsomeandgregariousasever,thrustoutahandandsaid,Heythere.IthinkI’veseenyoubefore
WhatIrememberisfeelingawkwardandinsecurethatnight,theawkwardnessabatingeversoslightlywiththecheesypickupline.Hehadn’t,ofcourse,seenmebefore.Itwasacome-on,anditworked.Wespenttherestofthenightintertwinedonthedancefloor,myinsecuritieslesseningthemoreIhadtodrink.
We’dbeendatingonlyacoupleofmonthswhenWillsuggestedhemoveintomyapartmentwithme.Whyhewassingle,Ididn’tknow.WhyhechosemeoveralltheotherbeautifulwomeninthecityofChicago,Ialsodidn’tknow.Butforwhateverreason,heinsistedhecouldn’tstandtobeawayfromme.Hewantedtobewithmeallthetime.Itwasaromanticnotion—noonehadevermademefeelasdesiredasWilldidbackthen—butitmadesensefinancially,too.IwasfinishingupmyresidencyandWillhisPhD.Onlyoneofuswasearninganincome,albeitasmallone,mostofwhichwenttorepaymedschooldebt.Butstill,Ididn’tmindcoveringtherent.IlikedhavingWillwithmeallthetime.Icoulddothatforhim.
Notlongafter,WillandIgotmarried.Shortlyafterthat,Daddied,takenfromthisworldofhisownvolition.Cirrhosisoftheliver.
WehadOtto.Andthen,yearslater,Tate.AndnowIfindmyselflivinginMaine.
TosayIwasn’tcompletelybowledoverwhenwordarrivedthatWill’ssisterhadleftusahomeandchildwouldbealie.Willalwaysknewaboutthefibromyalgia,butwelearnedaboutthesuicidefromtheexecutoroftheestate.Ididn’tthinkanygoodcouldcomefromourmovingtoMaine,butWilldisagreed.
Themonthsbeforehadbeenmercilessandunsparing.First,Otto’sexpulsion,followedimmediatelybythediscoveryofWill’saffair.Itwasn’tdaysafterthatthatapatientofminediedonthetable.I’dhadpatientsdiebefore,butthisonenearlywreckedme.He’dhadapericardiocentesisdone,arelativelysafeandroutineprocedurewherefluidisaspiratedfromthesacthatsurroundsaperson’sheart.WhenIlookedbackatmymedicalnotes,theprocedurewaswellwarranted.Thepatientwassufferingfromaconditionknownascardiactamponade,wheretheaccumulationoffluidputsexcessivepressureontheheart,stoppingitfromfunctioningproperly.Cardiactamponadecanbelethalunlesssomeofthefluidisdrained.I’ddonetheprocedurebefore,manytimes.There’dneverbeenaproblem.
Butthistime,Ididn’tdotheprocedure.Because,accordingtomycolleagues,Iwalkedoutoftheroomjustasthepatientwentintocardiacarrest,forcingaresidenttoperformthepericardiocentesiswithoutme.Thepatientonthetablewasdying,andwithouttheprocedurehewouldhavedied.
Buttheprocedurewasdoneincorrectly.Theneedlepuncturedthepatient’sheartsothathediedanyhow.
Theyfoundmelater,upstairsonthehospital’srooftop,perchedontheedgeofthefourteen-storybuilding,legsdanglingovertheedge,wheresomeclaimedIwasabouttojump.
ButIwasn’tsuicidal.Thingswerebad,buttheyweren’tthatbad.IblamedOtto’sexpulsionandtheaffairforit,forwreakinghavoconmyemotionsandmind.Anervousbreakdown,claimedtherumorscirculatingthroughoutthehospital.ThebuzzwasthatIhadhadanervousbreakdownintheER,marchedmyselfuptothefourteenthfloor,preparedtojump.I’dblackedoutiswhathappened.Whenallwassaidanddone,Ididn’trememberanyofit.It’saperiodofmylifethat’sgone.WhatIrememberisexaminingmypatient,andthencomingtoinadifferentroom—exceptbythenIwastheonespreadoutonatable,hiddenbeneathasheet.WhenIlaterheardthatmypatientdiedatthehandsofalessexperienceddoctor,Icried.I’mnotonetocry.Butthattime,Icouldn’tkeepitinside.
Thetriggersofanervousbreakdownwerethere:aperiodofstressthathadn’tbeendealtwith,feelingdisoriented,worthless,unabletosleep.
Thenextday,theheadofthedepartmentputmeonforcedmedicalleave.Hesubtlysuggestedapsycheval.Isaidthanks,butnothanks.Instead,Ichosetoresign.Icouldn’tgobackthereeveragain.
WhenwearrivedinMaine,WillandIfoundthefoursquarefarmhouseinquiteastate.Thestepstoolwasstillintheatticalongwiththreefeetofrope,snippedattheendwhiletherestremainedboundtosomesortofexposedsupportbeamthatcutacrosstheceiling.AnythingwithinreachofAlice’sthrashingbodyhadbeenknockedover,implyingdeathhadn’tbeenabreeze.
Imakemywaytotheatticdoorandpullitopen.Fromupabove,alightglows.Iclimbthestepstwoatatimeas,beneathmyfeet,theycreak.Theatticisanunfinishedspace,completewithwoodenbeams,aplankcorkflooring,wadsoffluffypinkinsulationscatteredhereandtherelikeclouds.Thelightcomesfromasingleexposedbulbontheceiling,whichsomeone,whoeverwashere,hasforgottentoturnoff.Astringdanglesbeneath.Achimney,wrappedinexposedbrick,runsthroughthecenteroftheroom,ventingoutside.There’sawindowthatfacesontothestreet.It’ssodarkoutsidetonight,there’snothingtosee.
Sheetsofpapercatchmyeye.They’reonthefloorwithapencil,oneIrecognizerightawayasoneofOtto’sgraphitedrawingpencils.TheonesWillandIgotforhim,theonesheneverletsTateuse.They’reexpensiveandalsoOtto’sprizedpossession,thoughIhaven’tseenhimusetheminmonths.SinceallthathappenedinChicagowithhim,hehasn’tbeendrawing.
I’mstrickenwithtwothings:disappointment,forone,thatOttowoulddisobeymeandcomeintotheatticwhenIsaidnotto.ButalsoreliefthatOttoisdrawingagain,thefirststep,perhaps,inareturntonormalcy.
MaybeWillisright.Maybeifwegiveittime,wecanfindhappinesshere.
Imakemywaytothesheetsofpaper.They’reonthefloor.Thewindowisopenaninch,crispDecemberaircomingin,makingthepapermove.Ibendatthekneestoretrieveit,expectingtoseethebiganimeeyesofAsaandKenstaringbackatme.ThecharactersfromOtto’sgraphicnovel,hiswork-in-progress.Thebarbedlinesofhair,thesad,disproportionateeyes.
Thepencil,sittinginchesfromthepaper,iscrackedinhalf.Theendofitisworndownandblunt,whichisn’tlikeOtto.He’salwaystakensuchgreatcareofthesepencils.Ireachforthat,too,andstandupright,beforelookingattheimagebeforeme.WhenIdo,Igasp,ahandgoinginvoluntarilytomymouth.
It’snotAsaandKenIsee.
Insteadangry,incompletelinesthatstopandgo.Somethingdismemberedonthepage,abody,Iassume.AroundobjectattheendofthesheetthatItakeforahead;thelong,limb-likeshapesforarmsandlegs.Atthetopofthedrawingarestars,acrescent-shapedmoon.Night.There’sanotherfigureonthepage,awoman,bythelooksofit,fromthelongscragglyhair,thelinesthatjutoutofhercircularhead.Inherhand,sheholdssomethingwithakeenedgethatdripswithsomethingelse,blood,Icanonlyassume,thoughthedrawingisinblackandwhite.Notellingred.Theeyesofthisfigurearemad,whilethedecapitatedheadnearbycries,bigshadedblobsoftearsthattearaholeinthepage.
Isuckinmybreathandholditthere.Apainsettlesinmychest.Myarmsandlegsgomomentarilynumb.
Thesameimageisreplicatedonallthreesheetsofpaper.There’snothingdifferentaboutthem,nothingthatIcansee.
ThedrawingsareOtto’s,ItellmyselfatfirstbecauseOttoistheartistinthefamily.Theonlyoneofuswhodraws.
Butthisisfartooprimitive,fartoorudimentarytobeOtto’s.Ottocandrawmuchbetterthanthis.
ButTateisahappyboy.Anobedientboy.Hewouldn’thavecomeintotheatticifItoldhimnotto.Andbesides,Tatedoesn’tdrawsuchviolent,murderousimages.Hecouldnevervisualizesuchthings,muchlessdepictthemonpaper.Tatedoesn’tknowwhatmurderis.Hedoesn’tknowthatpeopledie.
IgobacktoOtto.
ThesedrawingsbelongtoOtto.
Unless,Ithink,drawinginadeepbreathandholdingitthere,theybelongtoImogen?BecauseImogenisanangrygirl.Imogenknowswhatmurderis;sheknowsthatpeopledie.She’sseenitwithherowneyes.ButwhatwouldshebedoingwithOtto’spencilsandpaper?
Iclosethewindowandturnmybacktoit.There’savintagedollhouseontheoppositewall.Itcatchesmyeye.Ifirstfounditthesamedaywearrived,thinkingitmighthavebelongedtoImogenwhenshewasachild.It’sacharminggreencottagewithfourrooms,anexpansiveattic,aslenderstaircaserunningupthecenterofit.Thedetailsofitareimpeccable.Miniaturewindowboxesandcurtains,tinylampsandchandeliers,bedding,aparlortable,evenagreendoghousetomatchthehome,completewithaminiaturedog.Thatfirstday,IdustedthehouseoutofrespectforAlice,laidthefamilyintheirbedstosleepuntiltheremightbegrandchildrentoplaywithit.Itwasn’tthetypeofthingTatewoulduse.
Igotoitnow,certainI’llfindthefamilyfastasleepwhereIleftthem.ExceptthatIdon’t.Becausesomeonehasbeenuphereintheattic,coloringpictures,openingwindows,meddlingwiththings.BecausethingsinthedollhousearenothowIputthem.
Insidethedollhouse,Iseethatthelittlegirlhasrisenfrombed.Shenolongerliesinthesecond-floorbedroom’scanopybedbutisontheflooroftheroom.Thefatherisnolongerinhisbedeither;he’sdisappeared.Iglancearound,findinghimnowhere.Onlythemotheristhere,sleepingsoundlyinthesleighbedonthefirstfloor.
Atthefootofthebedliesaminiatureknife,nobiggerthanthepadofathumb
There’saboxbesidethedollhouse,chock-fullofaccessories.Thelidofitisclosed,butthelatchisunfastened.Iopenitupandhavealook,searchinginsidetheboxforthefather,butfindinghimnowhere.Igiveupmysearch.
Ipullthestringandtheatticgoesblack.
AsItraveldownthestepswithabadfeelinginthepitofmystomach,itdawnsonme:thehouseisquiet.Imogenhasturnedheroffensivemusicoff.WhenIreachthesecond-storylanding,Iseeherstandinginherdoorway,backlitbythebedroomlight.
Hereyesareaccusatory.Shedoesn’task,andyetIreaditinherexpression.ShewantstoknowwhatIwasdoingintheattic.“Therewasalighton,”Iexplain,waitingabeatbeforeIask,“Wasityou?Wereyouupthere,Imogen?”
Shesnorts.“You’reanidiotifyouthinkI’devergobackupthere,”shesays.
Imullthatover.Shecouldbelying.Imogenstrikesmeasamasterfulliar.
Sheleansagainstthedoorframe,crossesherarms.
“Doyouknow,Sadie,”shesays,lookingpleasedwithherself,andIrealizethatshe’snevercalledmebynamebefore,“whatapersonlookslikewhentheydie?”
Sufficetosay,Ido.I’veseenplentyoffatalitiesinmylife.
Butthequestion,onImogen’stongue,leavesmeatalossforwords.
Imogendoesn’twantananswer.It’sforshockvalue;she’stryingtointimidateme.ShegoesontodescribeindisturbingdetailthewayAlicelookedthedayshefoundher,hangingintheatticfromarope.Imogenhadbeenatschoolthatday.Shetooktheferryhomeasusual,cameintoaquiethousetodiscoverwhatAlicehaddone.
“Therewereclawmarksonherneck,”shesays,rakingherownvioletfingernailsdownherpaleneckline.“Herfuckingtonguewaspurple.Itgotstuck,hangingoutofhermouth,clampedbetweenherteethlikethis,”shesaysasshesticksherowntongueoutatmeandbitesdown.Hard.
I’veseenvictimsofstrangulationbefore.Iknowhowthecapillariesonthefacebreak,howtheeyesbecomebloodshotfromtheaccumulationofbloodbehindthem.Asanemergencymedicinephysician,I’vebeentrainedtolookforthisinvictimsofdomesticviolence,forsignsofstrangulation.ButIimaginethat,forasixteen-year-oldgirl,seeingyourmotherinthisstatewouldbetraumatizing
“Shenearlybitthefuckingthingoff,”ImogensaysaboutAlice’stongue.Shebeginstolaughthen,thisill-timed,uncontrollablelaughthatgetstome.Imogenstandsthreefeetaway,devoidofemotionotherthanthisunseemlygleefuldisplay.“Wanttosee?”sheasks,thoughIdon’tknowwhatshemeansbythis.
“Seewhat?”Iaskcarefully,andshesays,“Whatshedidwithhertongue.”
Idon’twanttosee.Butsheshowsmeanyway,aphotographofherdeadmother.It’sthereonhercellphone.Sheforcesthephoneintomyhands.Thecolordrainsfrommyface.
Beforethepolicearrivedthatdreadfulday,Imogenhadtheaudacitytotakeapictureonherphone.
Alice,dressedinapalepinktunicsweaterandleggings,hangsfromanoose.Herheadistilted,theropeboringintoherneck.Herbodyislimp,armsathersides,legsunbending.Storageboxessurroundher,onesthatwereoncepiledtwoorthreehighbutnowlieontheirsides,contentsfallingout.Alampisontheground,coloredglassscatteredatrandom.Atelescope—onceusedtostareattheskyoutthroughtheatticwindow,perhaps—isalsoonitsside,everything,presumably,knockedviolentlyoverasAlicedied.Thestepstoolsheusedtoclimbupintothegallowsstandsfourfeetaway,upright.
IthinkofwhatAlicemusthavegonethroughassheclimbedthethreestepstoherdeath,assheslippedherheadintotheknot.Theceilingsoftheatticarenothigh.Alicewouldhavehadtomeasuretheropeinadvance,tobecertainthatwhenshesteppedoffthestool,herfeetwouldnottouchtheground.Shedroppedbyonlyacoupleofinchesatbest.Thefallwassmall;herneckwouldn’thavebrokenfromtheheight,whichmeansthatdeathwaspainfulandslow.Theevidenceofthatisthere,inthepicture.Thebrokenlamp,theclawmarks,thenearlyseveredtongue.
“Why’dyoutakethis?”Iask,tryingtoremaincalm.Idon’twanttogiveherwhatshewants.
Sheshrugshershoulders,asks,withablatantdisregardforhermother’slife,“Whythehellnot?”
IhidemyshockasImogentakesthephoneandturnsslowlyfromme.Shegoesbackintoherroom,leavingmeshaken.IpraythatOtto,inhisownroomjustnextdoor,hashisearbudsin.Ipraythathedidn’thearthatawfulexchange.
IretreattothebedroomwhereIchangeintomypajamasandstandatthewindow,waitingforWilltocomehome.Istareintothehomenextdoor.There’salightoninside,theverysamelightthatgoesonatsevenandoffnearmidnighteachnight.NoonelivesinthathomethistimeofyearandIthinkofit,emptyontheinside,formonthsonend.What’stokeepapersonfromlettingthemselvesinside?
Whenacarpullsintothedrive,Ican’thelpbutwatch.Theinsideofthecarbecomesfloodedwithlightasthedooropens.Tateandhisfriendarebuckledinthebackseat,WillinthefrontbesideawomanwhoismostdefinitelynotatoothlesshagbutratherashadowybrunettewhomIcan’tfullysee.
Tateisbubbly,bouncy,whentheystepinsidethehouse.Herunsupthestairstogreetme.Heproudlyannounces,“Youcametoseemeatschooltoday!”asheburststhroughthebedroomdoorinhisStarWarshoodieandapairofknitpants.Thesepants,likealltheothers,aretooshortforhim,exposingankles.WillandIcan’tkeepup.There’saholeinthetoeofhissock.
Will,halfastepbehindhim,turnstomeandasks,“Youdid?”
ButIshakemyheadatWill.“Ididn’t,”Isay,notknowingwhatTatemeansbythis.MyeyesgotoTate’s,andIsay,“Iwasatworktoday,Tate.Iwasn’tatyourschool.”
“Yes,youwere,”hesays,onthevergeofgettingupset.Iplayalong,onlytoappeasehim.
“Well,whatwasIdoing?”Iaskhim.“WhatdidIsay?”
“Youdidn’tsayanything,”hesays,andIask,“Don’tyouthinkifIwasatyourschooltoday,Iwouldhavesaidsomethingtoyou?”
TateexplainsthatIstoodontheothersideoftheplaygroundfence,watchingthekidsatrecess.IaskedwhatIhadon,andhetellsmemyblackcoatandmyblackhat,whichisexactlywhatIwouldbewearing.It’swhathe’susedtoseeingmein,butthere’shardlyawomanintownwhodoesn’twearablackcoatandhat.
“Ithinkmaybethatwassomeoneelse’smommy,Tate,”Isay,buthejuststares,sayingnothing.
Ifindtheideaofanywomanstandingontheperipheryoftheplaygroundwatchingkidsplayabitunnerving.Iwonderhowsecuretheschoolis,especiallywhenthekidsareatrecess.Howmanyteachersareonrecessduty?Isthefencelocked,orcananyoneopenthegateandsteprightin?Theschoolseemseasyenoughtocontainwhenthekidsareindoors,butoutdoorsisadifferentmatter.
Willruffleshishair,saystohim,“Ithinkit’sabouttimewegetthatvisionofyourschecked.”
Ireroutetheconversation.“What’sthisyou’vegot?”Iask.InhishandsTateproudlytotesaminifigureheassembledhimselfatthelibraryevent.Heshowsittome,beforeclimbingontothebedtokissmegood-nightatWill’srequest.Willushershimtohisownbedroom,wherehereadsTateastoryandtuckshimintobedsnugasabuginarug.Onthewaybacktoourbedroom,WillstopsbyOtto’sandImogen’sbedroomstosaygood-night.
“Youdidn’teatthecasserole,”Willsayssecondslaterafterhereturnstoourbedroom.He’sconcerned,andItellhimIwasn’thungry.“Youfeelingokay?”heasks,runningawarmhandthelengthofmyhair,andIshakemyheadandtellhimno.Ithinkwhatitwouldfeelliketoleanintohim.Tolethisstrongarmsenvelopme.Tobevulnerableforonce,tofalltopiecesbeforehimandlethimpickthemup.
“HowsafeisTate’selementaryschool?”Iaskinstead.
Heassuresmeit’ssafe.“Itwasprobablyjustsomemotherdroppingoffaforgottenlunch,”hesays.“It’snotlikeTateisthemostobservantkid,Sadie.I’mtheonlydadatschoolpickup,andstill,everydayhehastroublefindingmeinthecrowd.”
“You’resure?”Iask,tryingnottoletmyimaginationgetthebestofme.Besides,there’ssomethinglessdisconcertingaboutitbecauseshewasawoman.Ifshehadbeenaman,watchingkidsplayonaplayground,Iwouldalreadybeperusingtheinternetbynow,tryingtodeterminehowmanyregisteredsexoffendersliveontheislandwithus.
Hetellsme,“I’msure.”
IslidethedrawingsIfoundintheattictohim.Hetakesalookatthemandbelievesrightawaythatthey’reOtto’s.Unlikeme,Willseemssure.“WhynotImogen?”Iask,wishingtheycouldbelongtoImogen.
“BecauseOtto,”hetellsmeunquestioningly,“isourartist.RememberOccam’srazor,”hesays,remindingmeofthebeliefthatstatestheeasiestexplanationismostoftenright.
“Butwhy?”Iask,meaningwhywouldOttodrawlikethis.
Atfirsthedeniesthegravityofthesituation,saying,“It’saformofself-expression,Sadie.Thisisnaturalforachildinpain.”
Butthataloneisdisconcerting.Becauseit’snotnaturalforachildtobeinpain.
“Youthinkhe’sbeingbullied?”Iask,butWillonlyshrugshisshouldersandsayshedoesn’tknow.Buthe’llcalltheschoolinthemorning.He’llfindout.
“WeneedtotalktoOttoaboutthis,”Itellhim,butWillsays,“Letmedosomeinvestigatingfirst.Themoreweknow,thebetterpreparedwe’llbe.”
Isayokay.Itrusthisinstinct.
Itellhim,“IthinkitwouldbegoodforImogentospeakwithsomeone.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”heasks,takenaback,thoughI’mnotsurewhy.Willisn’taversetotherapy,thoughshe’shisniecebyblood,notmine.Thisisforhimtodecide.“Likeapsychiatrist?”heasks.
Itellhimyes.“She’sgettingworse.Shemustbeharboringsomuchinsideofher.Anger.Grief.Ithinkitwouldbegoodforhertospeakwithsomeone,”Isay,tellinghimaboutourconversationthisevening,thoughIdon’ttellhimwhatIsawonImogen’sphone.Hedoesn’tneedtoknowIsawapictureofhisdeadsister.IsayonlythatImogendescribedformeindetailwhatAlicelookedlikewhenshefoundher.
“Soundstomelikeshe’sopeninguptoyou,Sadie,”hesays.ButIhaveahardtimebelievingit.Itellhimtherapywouldbebetter,withsomeonetrainedtodealwithsuicidesurvivors.Notme.
“Will?”Iask,mymindgoingelsewhere,toathoughtIhadearliertonightasIstaredoutthewindowtowardthehomenextdoor.
“What?”heasks.
“Thevacanthousenextdoor.Doyouthinkthepolicesearcheditwhentheywerecanvassingtheneighborhood?”
Thelookhegivesmeisconfused.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“Whydoyouask?”
“Justseemsanemptyhomewouldbeaneasyplaceforakillertohide.”
“Sadie,”hesaysinawaythat’sbothpatronizingandreassuringatthesametime.“I’msurethereisn’takillerlivingnextdoortous.”
“Howcanyoubesosure?”Iask.
“We’dknow,wouldn’twe?Somethingwouldlookoff.Lightson,windowsbroken.We’dhearsomething.Butthathousehasn’tchangedinallthetimewe’vebeenhere.”
Iletmyselfbelievehimbecauseit’stheonlywayI’lleverbeabletosleeptonight.
CAMILLE
TherewerenightsIwenttoWill’scondothatIstoodaloneinthestreet,watchingfromoutside.ButWillandSadieliveduptoohigh.Itwashardtoseeinsidefromthestreet.
AndsoonenightIhelpedmyselftothefireescape.
Idressedinallblack,scrambledupsixflightslikeacatburglarinthenight
Onthesixthfloor,Isatonthesteelplatform,justoutsidehiskitchenwindow.Ilookedin,butitwasdarkinsidetheirhome,thedeadofnight,hardtoseemuchofanything.AndsoIsatawhile,wishingWillwouldwakeup,thathewouldcometome.
IlitupasmokewhileIwaited.Iflickedthelighterawhile,watchedtheflameburstfromtheendofthewick.Idraggedmyfingerthroughtheflame,wantingittohurt,butitdidn’thurt.Ijustwantedtofeelsomething,anything,pain.AllIfeltwasemptyinside.Ilettheflameburnforawhile.Iletthelightergetallheatedup.Ipressedittomypalmandheldittherebeforedrawingitaway,smilingatmyhandiwork.
Anangryroundburnonthepalmofmyhandsmiledbackatme.
Igottomyfeet.Iwiggledmysleepinglegstogetthebloodbacktoflowing.Pinsandneedlesstabbedatme.
Thecityaroundmewasbedazzling.Therewerelightseverywhere.Inthedistance,streetsbuzzed,buildingsgleamed.
Istayedthereallnight.Willnevercameforme.Becauseourlifetogetherwasn’talwayssunshineandrainbows.Wehadgooddays,wehadbad.
Thereweredayswewereamatchmadeinheaven.Thereweredayswewereincompatible,completelyoutofsync.
Ourtimespenttogether,nomatterhowgoodorbaditmayhavebeen,camewiththerealizationthathewouldneverknowmeasheknewSadie.Becausewhattheotherwomangetsisanotherwoman’stablescraps,neverthefullmeal.
MomentswithWillwerehidden,rushed.IlearnedtostealmytimewiselywithWill,tomakemomentshappen.Iwenttohiminhisclassroomonce,letmyselfinsidetheroomwhenitwasempty,tookhimbysurprise.HewasstandingathisdeskwhenIcamein.Iclosedandlockedthedoorbehindmyself,wenttohim.Ihitchedmydressuptomywaistline,shimmiedontohisdesk,partedmylegs.LethimseeforhimselfthatIhadnothingonunderneath.
Willstareddownthereamomenttoolong,eyeswide,mouthagape.
Youcan’tbeserious,Willsaid.Youwanttodothishere?heasked.
OfcourseIdo,Itoldhim.
Righthere?heaskedagain,bearingdownonthedesktobesureitcouldholdthebothofus
Isthataproblem,Professor?Iasked,spreadingmylegswider.
Therewasatwinkletohiseye.HegrinnedliketheCheshirecat.
No,hesaidtome.It’snotaproblem.
Iboundedfromthedesktopwhenwewerethrough,letthedressfallbackdownmythighs,saidmygoodbyes.Itriednottothinkaboutwherehewouldgofromthere.It’snoteasybeingtheotherwoman.Theonlythingthereisforusisdisdain,neversympathy.Noonefeelssorryforus.Insteadtheyjudge.We’rewrittenoffasselfish,scheming,shrewd,whenallwe’reguiltyofisfallinginlove.Peopleforgetwe’rehuman,thatwehavefeelings,too.
SometimeswhenWillpressedhislipstomine,itwasmagneticandelectric,acurrentthatchargedthroughbothofus.Hiskisswasoftenimpassioned,fiery,butsometimesnot.SometimesitwascoldandIwouldthinkthatwasit,theendofouraffair.Iwaswrong.Becausethat’sthewayitiswithrelationshipssometimes.Theyebbandtheyflow.
OnedayIfoundmyselfspeakingtoashrinkaboutit.Iwassittingonaswivelchair.TheroomIwasinwastallwithfloor-to-ceilingwindows.Heavygraydrapesborderedthewindows,stretchedfromceilingtofloor.Therewasavaseofflowersonacoffeetablebetweenus,oversizedlikeeverythingelseintheroom.Nexttothevaseweretwoglassesofwater,oneforherandoneforme.
Myeyescircledtheroom,wentsearchingforaclock.Insteadtheyfoundshelvesofbooksonmentalillness,emotionalintelligence,mindgames;graduateschooldiplomas.
Tellme,theshrinksaid,what’sbeenhappening.
Thatwaswheretheconversationbegan.
Ishiftedinthechair,adjustedmyshirt.
Iclearedmythroat,foughtformyvoice.
Everythingallright?theshrinkasked,watchingasIshiftedinthechair,asifgettingcomfortableinmyownskin.
Itoldhereverythingwasallright.Iwasn’tshy.Ineveram.Ikickedmyfeetuponanottoman,toldthewomanbeforeme,I’vebeensleepingwithamarriedman.
Shewasheavierset,oneofthosewomenwhocarrytheweightintheirface.
Therewasnochangeinexpressionotherthanaslightlifttothelefteyebrow.Herbrowswerethick,heavy.
Herlipsparted.Oh?sheasked,showingnoemotionatwhatI’dsaid.Tellmeabouthim.Howdidyoumeet?
ItoldhereverythingtherewastotellaboutWill.IsmiledasIdid,relivingeachmoment,oneatatime.Thedaywemetbeneaththetracks.Hishandonmywrist,savingmylife.Coffeeinthecoffeeshop.Usleanedupagainstabuilding,Will’svoiceinmyear,hishandonmythigh.
Butthenmymoodturnedsour.Ireachedforatissue,blottedmyeyes.Iwenton,tellingherhowharditwasbeingthatotherwoman.Howlonely.HowIdidn’thavethepromiseofdailycontact.Nocheck-inphonecalls,nolate-nightconfessionsaswedriftedtosleep.Therewasnoonetotalktoaboutmyfeelings.Alone,Itriednottoruminateonit.Butthereareonlysomanytimesyoucanbecalledbyanotherwoman’snameandnotgetacomplex.
Sheencouragedmetoendtheaffair.
Buthesayshelovesme,Itoldher.
Amanwhoiswillingtocheatonhiswife,shesaid,willoftenmakepromisestoyouthathecan’tkeep.Whenhetellsyouhelovesyou,it’saformofentrapment.Cheatingspousesaremastersatmanipulation,shesaid.Hemaytellyouthingstokeepyoufromendingtheaffair.Hehasbothawifeandaloverontheside.Hehasnoincentivetochange.
Itwasn’therintent,butIfoundreliefinthat.
Willhadnoreasontoleaveme.
Willwouldneverleaveme.
SADIE
Ilaytherehalf-asleep,shakenfromadream.Inthedream,Iwaslyinginabedthatwasn’tmine,staringupataceilingthatwasalsonotmine.Theceilingabovemewasatreyceilingwithafanthatdroppedfromthecenterofit.Thebladesofthefanwereshapedlikepalmleaves.I’dneverseenitbefore.Thebedsaggedinthemiddlesothattherewasatrenchmybodyslippedeasilyinto,makingithardtomove.Ilayinthestrangebed,trappedinthecrevasse.
Ithappenedsofasttherewasn’ttimetowonderwhereIwas,toworryaboutit,onlytorealizethatIwasnotinmyownbed.Ireachedahandacrosseithersideofit,feelingforWill.Butthebedwasemptyotherthanme.MyownbodywascocoonedinablanketbeneaththequiltandIlaythere,watchingtheinertfanaboveme,illuminatedonlybyastreakofmoonlightthatcamethroughthewindow.Itwashotinthebed.Iwishedthatthefanwouldmove,thatitwouldsendarushofairtomybodytocoolmeoff.
AndthensuddenlyIwasnolongerinthebed.Iwasstandingbesideit,watchingmyselfsleep.Theroomaroundmebecamedistorted.Thecolorsbegantofade.Allatonce,everythingwasmonochrome.Thewallsoftheroomwarpedtooddshapes,trapezoidsandparallelograms.Itwasnolongersquare.
Ifeltaheadachecomingon.
Inmydream,Iforcedmyeyesclosedtostoptheroomfromchangingshapes.
WhenIopenedthemagain,IwasinmyownbedwithanimageofMorganBainesinmymind.I’dbeendreamingabouther.Ican’trememberthedetailsofit,butIknowforcertainthatshewasthere.
Beforeheleftthebedroomawhileago,Willkissedme.HeofferedtodrivetheboystoschoolsothatIcouldsleepin.Youhadtroublesleepinglastnight,hesaid,andIwasn’tsureifitwasaquestionorastatement.Ididn’thavetroublesleepingperse,butmydreamsweresovividImusthavetossedandturnedinmysleep.
Willkissedmeonthehead.Hewishedmeagooddayandheleft.
DownstairsnowIheartherustleofbreakfastbeingserved,ofbackpacksbeingpacked.Thefrontdooropensandthey’regone.OnlythendoIsituprightinbed.AsIdo,Iseemynightgownlyingattheendofit,nolongeronme.
Irisetomyfeet,thecoversslidingfrommybody.IdiscoverthatI’mnaked.Therealizationofitstartlesme.Myhandgoesinadvertentlytomychest.I’mnotaversetosleepingnude.ItwasthewayWillandIoftensleptbeforetheboysstartedtoddlingintoourroomwhentheywereyoung.Butit’snotsomethingI’veoftendonesince.Theideaofsleepingnakedwhentherearekidsinmyhomeembarrassesme.WhatifOttohadseenmelikethis?Orworseyet,Imogen?
ThethoughtofImogensuddenlygivesmepause,becauseIheardWillandtheboysleave.ButIneverheardImogenleave.
ItellmyselfthatWillwouldn’tleavebeforeshedid.Hewouldhavemadesureshewasgonefirst,headedtoschool.Imogendoesn’talwaysmakehercomingsandgoingsknown,whichtellsmenowthatshe’snothere,thatsheslippedoutquietlylongbeforeWillandtheboysdid.
There’sdriedsweatbeneathmyarmsandbetweenmylegs,aresultoftheinequitableheatintheoldhome.IrememberhowhotIwasinmydream.Imusthavewhippedoffthenightgownunconsciously.
Ifindclothesinthedresserdrawer,runningtightsandalong-sleevedshirtthatIslipon.AsIdo,anotherthoughtcomestome,aboutImogen.Whatif,likeme,Willonlyassumedshe’dgonetoschool,becauseofhertendencytoslipinandoutunnoticed?
MyfearofImogencolorsmyjudgmentandIfindmyselfwondering:Isshestillhome?AreImogenandItheonlyoneshere?
Icautiouslyleavethebedroom.Imogen’sdoorisclosed,thepadlockonthenewlockingmechanismsecurelyfastened,whichtellsmeshe’snotthereinherroom.Becauseshecouldn’tlockitifshewasinside.
Thepurposeofthelock:tokeepmeout.Itseemslikeaninnocuousenoughthing,butatsecondglance,Iwonderifitwouldaseasilylocksomeoneinaslocksomeoneout.
IcallouttoImogenasImakemywaydownthesteps,justtobesure.Downstairs,hershoesandherbackpackaregone,asisherjacket.
Willhasleftbreakfastformeonthecounterandanemptymugforcoffee.Ifillthecoffeemugandtakeitandmycrepestothetabletoeat.OnlytheredoIseethatWillhaslefthisbookbehind,thetruecrimenovel.He’sfinishedit,Iassume,andleftitformetoread.
Ireachforthebookandslideittowardmyself.Butitisn’tthebookthatI’mthinkingabout.Notreally.It’sthephotographinside,thatofhisformerfiancée.Itakethebookintomyhands,takeadeepbreathandleafthroughthepages,expectingErin’sphototofallout.
Whenitdoesn’t,Ileafthroughagain,asecondandathirdtime.
Isetthebookdown.Ilookupandsigh.
Willhastakenthephotograph.He’stakenthephotographandleftthebookforme.
WherehasWillputthephotograph?
Ican’taskWill.TobringErinupagainwouldbeinpoortaste.Ican’tpossiblynaghimoverandoveragainabouthisdeadfiancée.ShewaslonggonebeforeIarrived.Butthefactthathehangsontoherphotographafteralltheseyearsishardtostomach.
WillgrewupontheAtlanticcoast,notfarfromwherewenowlive.Hetransferredcollegesduringhissophomoreandjunioryears,leavingtheEastCoastforaschoolinChicago.BetweenErin’sdeathandhisstepfather’s,Willtoldme,hecouldn’tstandtostayouteastanymore.Hehadtoleave.Shortlyafterhedid,hismothermarriedforthethirdtime(fartoosoon,inWill’sopinion;she’sthekindofwomanwhocan’teverbealone)andmovedsouth.HisbrotherjoinedthePeaceCorpsandnowlivesinCameroon.ThenAlicedied.Willdoesn’thavefamilyontheEastCoastanymore.
ErinandWillwerehighschoolsweethearts.Heneverusedthattermwhenhetoldmeaboutherbecauseitwastoosentimental,tooendearing.Buttheywere.Highschoolsweethearts.Erinwasnineteenwhenshedied;he’djustturnedtwenty.They’dbeentogethersincetheywerefifteenandsixteen.ThewayWilltellsit,Erin,homefromcollegeforChristmasbreak—Willwenttocommunitycollegethosefirsttwoyears—hadbeenmissingovernightbythetimeherbodywasfound.Shewassupposedtopickhimupatsixfordinner,butshenevershowed.BysixthirtyWillwasgettingworried.Nearseven,hecalledherparents,herfriendsinquicksuccession.Nooneknewwhereshewas.
Aroundeighto’clock,Erin’sparentsmadeacalltothepolice.ButErinhadonlybeengonetwohoursatthatpointandthepoliceweren’tquicktoissueasearch.Itwaswinter.Ithadsnowedandtheroadswereslick.Accidentswereplenty.Thepolicehadtheirworkcutoutforthemthatnight.Inthemeantime,thepolicesuggestedWillandherparentskeepcallingaround,checkingoutanyplaceErinwasliabletobe—whichwasridiculoussinceawinterweatherwarninghadbeenissued,urgingdriverstostayofftheroadsthatnight.
TherouteErinoftentooktoWill’swashillyandmeandering,coveredinathinlayeroficeandsnowthatwrappedaroundalargepond.Itwasoffthebeatenpath,ascenicroutebestavoidedwhentheweathertookaturnfortheworseasithadthatnight.
ButErinwasalwaysfoolhardy,notthetype,accordingtoWill,thatyoucouldtellwhattodo.
Atjustthirty-twodegrees,thepondwheretheylaterfoundherhadn’thadachancetofreezethrough.Itcouldn’tbeartheweightofthecarwhenErinhitapatchoficeandwentsoaringofftheroad.
Thatnight,WilllookedeverywhereforErin.Thegym,thelibrary,thestudiowhereshedanced.HedroveeveryroutehecouldpossiblythinkoftogetfromErin’shousetohis.Butitwasdarkout,andthepondwasonlyablackabyss.
Itwasn’tuntilearlymorningthatajoggerspiedthecar’sfenderstickingoutoftheiceandsnow.Erin’sparentswerenotifiedfirst.BythetimeWillheardthenews,morethantwelvehourshadpassedsinceshehadn’tshownupfortheirdate.Herparentsweredevastated,aswasalittlesister,onlynineyearsoldwhenshedied.AswasWill.
Ipushthebookawayfromme.Idon’thavethestomachtoreaditbecauseIcan’tseethebookwithoutthinkingofthephotothatwasoncetuckedinside.
WhereishekeepingErin’sphotograph?Iwonder,butatthesametimecomesanotherthought:WhydoIcare?
Willmarriedme.Wehavechildrentogether.
Helovesme.
Ileavemybreakfastdisheswheretheyare.Istepfromthekitchen,slipintoawindproofjacketthathangsfromahallwayhook.Ineedtogoforarun,toblowoffsteam.
Iheadoutontothestreet.Theskiesthismorningaregray,thegroundmoistfromanearlyrainfallthat’sdriftedsomewhereouttosea.Iseetheraininthedistance.Streaksofithoverbeneaththebaseoftheclouds.Theworldlookshopelessandbleak.Bytheendoftheday,forecasterspredicttherainwillturntosnow.
Ijogdownthestreet.It’sararedayoffwork.WhatIhaveinmindforitisajogfollowedbyaquietmorningalone.OttoandTatehavegonetoschool,Willtowork.Willhasnodoubtcaughttheferrybynow,gettingshuttledtothemainland.Therehe’llcatchabustocampus,wherehe’llrivetnineteen-year-oldsaboutalternativeenergysourcesandbioremediationforhalftheday,beforegatheringTatefromschoolandcominghome.
Ijogdownthehill.Itakethestreetthatfollowstheperimeteroftheisland,movingpastoceanfrontproperties.They’renotlavish,notbyanymeans.Rather,they’rewell-worn,livedinforgenerations,easilyahundredyearsold.Breezycottages,rougharoundtheedges,hiddenamidtheampletrees.It’safive-milelooparoundtheisland.Thelandscapeisn’tmanicured.It’sfarmoreruralthanthat,withlongstretchesofbackwoodsandpublicbeachesthatarenotonlyruggedandseaweed-swept,buteerilyvacantthistimeofyear.
Irunfast.Ihavesomuchonmymind.IfindmyselfthinkingaboutImogen,aboutErin;aboutJeffreyBainesandhisex-wifehidinginthechurch’ssanctuary.Whatweretheytalkingabout,Iwonder,andwhereisErin’sphotograph?HasWillhiddenitfromme,orisheusingitasabookmarkinhisnextnovel?Isitsomethingasauspiciousasthat?
Ipasscliffsthatinhabittheeastsideoftheisland.They’reprecariousandsteep,juttingoutandovertheAtlantic.ItrynottothinkaboutErin.AsIwatch,theocean’swavescomecrashingfuriouslyintotherocks.Allatonce,aflockofmigratingbirdsmovespastmeinaderangedmassastheydothistimeofyear.ThesuddenmovementofthemstartlesmeandIscream.Dozens,ifnothundreds,ofblackbirdspulsateasifone,andthenflee.
Theoceanistempestuousthismorning.Thewindblowsacrossit,sendingthewavescrashingtoshore.Angrywhitecapsassailtherockyshoreline,throwingupwardaten-ortwenty-footspray.
Iimaginethewatersthistimeofyearareicy,thedepthoftheoceandeep.
Ipauseinmyruntostretch.Ireachdowntotouchmytoes,looseningmyhamstrings.Theworldaroundmeissoquietit’sunsettling.TheonlysoundIhearisthatofthewindslippingaroundme,whisperingintomyear.
AllatonceI’mstartledbywordsthatgetcarriedtomeonthejetstream.
Ihateyou.You’realoser.Die,die,die.
Ijoltupright,scanningthehorizonforthesourceofthenoise.
ButIseenothing,noone.AndyetIcan’tshaketheideathatsomeoneisoutthere,thatsomeoneiswatchingme.Achillgoesdashingupmyspine.Myhandsstarttoshake.
Icalloutafeeble“Hello?”butnoonereplies.
Ilookaround,seenothinginthedistance.Noonehidingbehindthecornersofhomesorthetrunksoftrees.Thebeachiswithoutpeople,thewindowsanddoorsofthehomesshuttightastheyshouldbeonadaylikethis.
It’smyimaginationonly.Nooneishere.Nooneisspeakingtome.
WhatIhearistherustleofthewind.
Mymindhasmistakenthewindforwords.
Icontinueonmyrun.BythetimeIreachthefringesoftown—aquintessentialsmalltownwiththeMethodistchurch,aninn,apostoffice,andahandfulofplacestoeat,includingaseasonalicecreamshop,boardedupwithpanelsofplywoodthistimeofyear—it’sbeguntorain.Whatstartsasadrizzlesooncomesdowninsheets.Irunasfastasmylegswillcarryme,duckingintoacafétowaitthestormout.
Iswingopenthedoorandscurryin,drippingwet.I’veneverbeenherebefore.Thiscaféisrusticandprovincial,thekindofplacewhereoldmenspendtheday,drinkingcoffee,grumblingaboutlocalpoliticsandweather.
Thecafédoordoesn’thaveachancetoclosebeforeIoverhearawomanask,“DidanyonegotothememorialserviceforMorgan?”
Thiswomansitsonawobbly,broken-spindledchairinthecenteroftherestaurant,eatingfromaplateofbaconandeggs.“PoorJeffrey,”shesays,shakingherheadmournfully.“Hemustbedevastated.”Shereachesforacartonofcreameranddouseshercoffeewithit.
“It’sallsoawful,”anotherwomanreplies.Theysit,atroopofmiddle-agedwomenatalonglaminatedtablebesidethewindowoftherestaurant.“Sounspeakable,”thesamewomansays.
ItellthehostessIneedatableforone,bythewindow.Awaitressstopsbyandaskswhatshecangetforme,andItellhercoffee,please.
Theladiesatthetablegoon.Ilisten.
“Iheardthemtalkingaboutitonthenewsthismorning,”someonesays.
“Whatdidtheysay?”anotherasks.
“Policehavebeenspeakingtoapersonofinterest.”
Jeffrey,Itellmyself,isthepersonofinterest.
“Iheardshegotstabbed,”Ioverhearjustthen,andmystomachlurchesatthewords.Myhandfallstomyownabdomen,thinkingwhatitwouldfeellikewhentheknifepuncturedtheskin,whenitslippedinsideherorgans.
Thenextvoiceisincredulous.“Howdotheyknowthat?”thewomanasks,slamminghermugtoohardtothetable,andtheladiesleap,includingme.“Policehaven’treleasedanyinformationyet.”
Thefirstvoiceagain.“Well,nowtheyhave.That’swhatthecoronersaid.Thecoronersaidshewasstabbed.”
“Fivetimes,theysaidonthenews.Onceinthechest,twiceinthebackandtheface.”
“Theface?”someoneasks,aghast.Myhandrisesuptomycheek,feelingtheinsubstantialityofit.Thethinskin,thehardbones.Nowhereforthebladeoftheknifetogo.“Howawful.”
Thewomenwonderaloudwhatitwouldfeelliketobestabbed.IfMorganfeltthepainstraightawayornotuntilthefirstsignsofblood.Ormaybeithappenedsofast,awomanguesses,therepeatedthrustinandoutofher,thatshedidn’thavetimetofeelathingbecauseshewasalreadydead.
WhatIknowasaphysicianisthatiftheweaponhitamajorarteryonthewayin,MorganBaineswouldhavepassedmercifullyquick.Butifitdidn’t,thoughshemayhavebeenincapacitated,deathbyexsanguination,bleedingout,wouldhavetakenlonger.And,oncetheshockofitworeoff,itwouldhavebeenpainful.
Forhersake,IhopeMorgan’sassailanthitamajorartery.Ihopeitwasquick
“Therewerenosignsofforcedentry.Nobrokenwindows.Nobusteddoor.”
“MaybeMorganopenedthedoorforhim.”
“Maybesheneverlockeditinthefirstplace,”someonechirps.“Maybeshewasexpectinghim,”shesays,andadiscussionfollowsabouthowmostmurdervictimsknowtheirassailant.Someonequotesastatistic,sayinghowrandomcrimeisrelativelyrare.“Gettingstabbedintheface.Thatsoundspersonaltome.”
Mymindgoestotheex,Courtney.CourtneyhadreasontowantMorgandead.Ithinkofherproclamation.I’mnotsorryforwhatIdid!Whatdidshemeanbythat?
“ThekillermusthaveknownJeffreywasgone,”oneoftheladiesspeculates.
“Jeffreytravelsoften.FromwhatIhear,he’salmostalwaysgone.Ifitisn’tTokyothenit’sFrankfurtorToronto.”
“MaybeMorganwasseeingsomeoneelse.Maybeshehadaboyfriend.”
Theincredulousvoicereturnsjustthen.“It’sallhearsay.Allrumor,”shesays,admonishingtheotherwomenforgossipingthiswayaboutadeadwoman.
Someonequicklycontradicts.“Pamela,”thewomansays,toneantagonistic.“It’snothearsay.Itwasonthenews.”
“TheysaidonthenewsthatMorganhadaboyfriend?”Pamelaasks.
“Well,no.Notthat.Buttheysaidthatshewasstabbed.”
IwonderifWillknowsanyofthis.
“Aknife,theysaid,”andIfindthisomniscienttheystartingtowearonmynerves.Whoisthey?“That’swhattheysaidwasthemurderweapon.Canyouimagine?”thewomanasks,asshelatchesdownonthehandleofabutterknifeandhoistsitindecorouslyoverherhead,makesbelieveshe’sstabbingthewomannexttoherwiththebluntedgeoftheknife.Theladiesadmonishher.“Jackie,”theysay,“stopit.Whatintheworld’sgottenintoyou?Awomanwaskilled.”
“That’swhattheysay,”thewomannamedJackiecontinues.“Juststatingthefacts,ladies.Accordingtocoronerreports,itwasaboningknifebytheshapeandlengthofthewound.Narrowandcurved.Aboutsixincheslong.Thoughthat’sjustspeculationbecauseMorgan’skillerdidn’tleaveitbehind.Hetookitwithhim.Tookitwithhimandprobablytosseditouttosea.”
Sittingthereinthecafé,Iimaginetheangry,tempestuouswavesIsawonmyrun.Ithinkofallthepeoplewhoridetheferrytoandfromthemainlanddayafterdayafterday,sittingatthetopofitwithoverthreemilesofseawaterwithwhichtodisposeofamurderweapon.
Somuchlatitude,somuchleeway.Everyonesowrappedupinthemselves,notpayingattentiontowhatothersaroundthemaredoing.
ThecurrentoftheAtlanticsweepsupwardalongthecoastandtowardNovaScotia.Fromthereit’sEurope-bound.There’slittlechanceaknifewouldwashashoreonthecoastofMaineifthekillertosseditouttosea.
IleavemycoffeewhereitiswhenIgo.Ididn’tdrinkadropofit.
CAMILLE
I’vealwayshatedtheocean.ButsomehowIconvincedmyselftofollowhimtherebecausewhereverWillwaswaswhereIwantedtobe.
Ifoundaplacetostay,anemptyhousenearhis.Thehousewasteensy,tiny,pathetic,withsheetsthathungfromfurniture,makingeverythingghostlike.
Iwalkedthroughtheinsideofthehouse,lookedeverythingover.Isatontheirchairs,IlayonthebedsjustlikeGoldilocks.Onewastoobig,toosmall,butonewasjustright.
Iopenedandcloseddresserdrawers,sawnearlynothinginside,forgottenthingsonly,likesocks,dentalfloss,toothpicks.
Iturnedthefaucets.Nothingcameout.Thepipeswereempty,thetoiletwas,too.Thecupboards,therefrigeratorwerenearlybare.Theonlythingtherewasaboxofbakingsoda.Thehousewascold.
Inthathouse,myexistentialcriseswerefrequent.Ifoundmyselfstuckinside,killingtime,wonderingwhy.Iwastrappedindarkness,feelinglikeIdidn’texist,feelinglikeIshouldn’texist.IthoughtthatmaybeI’dbebetteroffdead.Ithoughtaboutwaystoendmylife.Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime.I’dtriedbefore,wouldhavedoneit,too,ifIhadn’tbeeninterrupted.It’sonlyamatteroftimeuntilItryagain.
SomenightsIleftthathouse,stoodinthestreetwatchingWillthroughthewindowofhisownhome.Mostnights,theporchlightwason,abeaconforSadiewhenshewasn’tthere.Itpissedmeoff.HelovedSadiemorethanhelovedme.IhatedSadieforit.Iscreamedather.Iwantedtokillher,Iwantedherdead.Butitwasn’taseasyasthat.
AsIstoodinthestreet,Iwatchedsmokecomegushingfromthechimneyandintothenight,grayagainstthenavysky.Therewerelampsoninsidethehome.Ayellowglowfilledthewindow,wherethecurtainswerepartedinaperfectV.
Everythingaboutitreadlikeadamngreetingcard.
Onenight,Istoodwatchingthroughthatwindow.Forasecond,Iclosedmyeyes.Iimaginedmyselfontheothersideofitwithhim.Inmymind,Igrappledwithhissweater.Hetuggedatmyhair.Hepressedhismouthtomine.Itwaswildandfierce.Hebitmylip.Itastedblood.
Butthentherevofacarenginerousedme.Iopenedmyeyes,sawthecarcomechuggingupthestreet.TheLittleEngineThatCould.Isteppedoutoftheway,droppeddownintotheditchwherethedriverwouldn’tseemelurkingintheshadows.
Thecarpassedslowlyby.Puffsofsmokesputteredfromthebackendofit.IthinkIcan,IthinkIcan.
IwatchedasWillkneltintheroominsidehishouse.Heworeasweaterthatnight,gray,thekindwithahalfzip.Heworejeans,heworeshoes.Hewasplayingwithhiskid,thelittleone,ontheirkneesinthemiddleoftheroom.Thestupidkid,hewassmiling.Hewashappyasadamnclam.
Hetookthekidbythehand.Together,theyrosefromthefloor,wenttothewindow.Theystood,lookingoutintothenight.Icouldseethem,buttheycouldn’tseeme.Icouldseeeverythingontheinsidebecauseofhowdarkitwasoutside.Thefireinthefireplace.Thevaseonthemantel;thepaintingonthewall.
TheywerewaitingforSadietocomehome.
Itoldmyselfhewasn’ttryingtoditchmewhenhecametothisisland.Hehadnochoicebuttogo.Justlikealarvahasnochoicebuttoturnintoaflea.
Justthenanothercarcamepassingby,butthistimeIdidn’tmove.
Itriednottobeanuisance.ButsomedaysIcouldn’thelpmyself.IleftmessagesonSadie’scarwindow;Isatonthehoodofhercar,chain-smokedmywaythroughapackofcigarettesbeforesomeoldhagtriedtotellmeIcouldn’tsmokethere,thatIhadtosmokesomewhereelse.Ididn’tlikebeingtoldwhattodo.Itoldher,Thisisafreecountry.IcansmokewhereverthehellIwant.Icalledherthings,abiddy,anoldbag.Shethreatenedtotellonme.
Iletmyselfintotheirhomeonedaywhennoonewasthere.Gettinginsidewaseasy.Ifyouwatchanyonelongenough,youknow.Thepasswords,thePINs—they’reallthesame.Andthey’reallthereinthepaperworkthatgetstossedinthetrash.Someone’sbirthdate,thelastfourdigitsofaSocialSecuritynumberonataxform,apaystub.
Ihidoutofsight,watchedWill’scarasitpulledawaybeforeIwenttothegaragekeypad,pluggedsomecodein.Igotitonthethirdtry.
Fromthere,thedoortothehouseunlocked.Iturnedtheknob,letmyselfin.
Thedogsdidn’tbarkwhenIsteppedinside.Someguarddogstheyare.Theyscurriedover,sniffedmyhand.Theylickedme.Ipettedtheirheads,toldthemtogoliedown,andtheydid.
Isteppedoutofmyshoes,mademywayaroundthekitchenfirst,tinkeringwiththings,touchingthings.Iwashungry.Iopenedtherefrigeratordoor,foundsomethinginside,satatthetabletoeat.
Ipretendedthiswasmyhome.Ikickedmyfeetuponanotherchair,reachedforadays-oldnewspaper.Isatawhile,readingobsoleteheadlinesasIate.
Iglancedacrossthetable,imaginedWilleatingwithme,imaginedIwasn’talone.
Howwasyourday?IaskedWill,butbeforehecouldreply,thephonerang.Thesoundofitwasunexpected.Istartled,boundingfrommychairtoanswerthephone,feelingaggrievedthatsomeonewouldcallinthemiddleofWill’sandmydinnertogether.
Iliftedthereceiverfromthecradle,pressedittomyear.
Hello?Iasked.Itwasanoldrotaryphone.Thekindnooneintheworldstillused.
IsthisMrs.Foust?heasked.Thevoicebelongedtoaman.Hewaschipper.
Ididn’tmissabeat.Thisisshe,Isaid,leaningmybackagainstthecountertop,grinning.ThisisSadieFoust,Isaid.
Hewasfromthecablecompany,callingtoseeifWillandIwantedtoupgradeourcablepackage.Hisvoicewaspersuasive,friendly.Heaskedquestions.Hecalledmebyname.
Well,notmynameexactly.
Butstill.
Howisyourcurrentpackagetreatingyou,Mrs.Foust?Areyouhappywithyourchoiceofchannels?
ItoldhimIwasnot.Thattheselectionwasquiteslim.
Doyoufindyourselfeverwishingforthehottestpremiumchannels,Mrs.Foust,oryourhusbandtheMLBNetwork?
ItoldhimIdid.ThatIwishedforthatallofthetime.ThatIlongedtowatchmoviesonHBOorShowtime.They’renotpartofourcurrentpackage,arethey,sir?
Unfortunately,no,they’renot,Mrs.Foust,hetoldme.Butwecanchangeallthat.Wecanchangeitrightnowoverthephone.Thisisagreattimetoupgrade,Mrs.Foust.
Hisofferwashardtorefuse.Icouldn’tsayno.
Isetthephonebackintoitscradle.Ileftmycasserolewhereitwas.Iranmyhandsoverthecountertop.Iopenedandcloseddrawers,fiddledwiththeknobsofthegasrange.
Iturnedthedial,bypassedtheignitionvalve.
Itdidn’ttakelongforthesmellofgastoreachmynose.
Imovedtothelivingroom,laidmyfingersonphotographs,satonthesofa,playedthepiano.
Iturnedandheadedtowardthestairs,whereIgrippedthehandrail,climbedthestepsup.Thestepswerewooden,sunkeninthemiddle.Theywereold,asoldasthehousewasold.
Imoveddownthehall,lookedineachroom.
Itdidn’ttakelongtofigureoutwhichbedroomwashis.
Thebedwaswide.Apairofhispantswasdrapedovertheedgeofalaundrybasket.Insidewerehisshirts,hissocks,herbras.Ithumbedthelaceofherbra,droppeditbackinthebasket,dugthroughuntilIfoundasweater.Itwasbrownwool,acardigan,uglyandworn,butwarm.Islippedmyarmsintoit,ranmyfingersalongtheribbedtrim,touchedthebuttons.Isankmyhandsintothebigapronpockets,didalittlespin.
IwenttoSadie’sdresser,whereherjewelryhungfromastand.Idrapedanecklaceovermyneck,slippedabraceletovermywrist.Islidopenadrawer,foundmakeupthere.IwatchedonintheattachedmirrorasIpattedmynosewithherpowderpuff,asIsweptherblushacrossmycheeks.
Don’tyoulooklovely,Mrs.Foust,Isaidtomyreflection,thoughI’dalwaysbeensomuchprettierthanSadie.Butevenso,ifIwantedto,Icoulddomyhairlikehers,Icoulddresslikeher,passmyselfoffasMrs.Foust.PersuadeotherstobelievethatIwasWill’swife,hischosenone.IfIwantedto.
Iwenttothebed,grabbedaholdofthetopsheetandpulleditback.Thesheetsweresoft,gray,thekindwithahighthreadcount,nodoubtexpensive.
Iranmyhandsoverthesheets,Ifingeredthehem.Isatontheedgeofthebed.Icouldn’thelpmyself;Ihadtogetinside.Islippedmyfeetunderthesheets,moveddownbeneaththecovers.Ilayonmyside,closedmyeyesawhile.PretendedWillwasbesidemeinbed.
Iwasgonebeforehecameback.HeneverknewIwasthere.
Iwasthereatthepierwhenhecame.Thedaywasdingy,gray.Thecloudssankfromthesky,theyfelltostreetlevel,likesmog.Everyoneandeverythingwasblurredbecauseofit.Everyonewasgray.
Therewerepeopleoutsidejustforthehellofit.Asiftheylikedthis,thedrearycold.Theystood,staringattheocean,watchingadotatseathatmayormaynothavebeentheferry.Itmovedin,gettingcloser,leavingsmallboatsbehind.Theyrolledbackandforthintheship’swake.
Thewindcutthroughmelikeaknife.Istoodwithmyticketinhand,holedupbehindtheticketbooth,waitingforWilltocome.Ispottedhimashemadehiswaydownthestreetforthedock.
Hissmilewaselectric.Myheartbeathard.
Buthewasn’tsmilingatme.
Hewassmilingatthehoipolloi,makingsmalltalkwiththecommoners.
Iwaitedbehindtheticketbooth,watchedhimtakehisplaceattheendoftheline.Iwaited,thenfellinlinebehindhim,ahandfulofpeoplebetweenus.
Idrapedahoodovermyhead.Withsunglasses,Ihidmyeyes.
Theferrywasthelastofustoarrive.Weparadedacrossthebridge,prisonersonadeathmarch.Therewereholesinthebridge,oneofthoseyouseestraightthroughtothechurningwaterbelow.Isawseaweed.Ismelledfish.
Willwentupthestepstotheupperdeck.IsatwhereIcouldwatchhimwithoutbeingseen.Icouldn’ttakemyeyesoffhim.Iwatchedashestoodatthesternoftheship;ashegrippedtheguardrail;ashestaredattheshorelineasitslippedfromview.
Thewaterbeneathuswasbrinyandbrown.Duckscircledtheboat.
Iwatchedthewholetime.Willstoodlikeaship’sfigurehead,Poseidon,godofthesea,keepingwatchovertheocean.Myeyesorbitedhisbody,tracedtheshapeofhissilhouette.Theycircledhiswindblownhair,roundedhisbroadshoulder,slippeddownanarm,countedeachfingertip.Theyfollowedtheseamofhisjeansfromhisthighstohisfeet.Droppedbeneaththesolesofhisshoes,wentuptheotherside,thesamewaytheycamedown.Feettothighstofingers.Iranmyhandsthroughhishair.Rememberedwhatitfeltlikewhenhishairgottangledupinthewebsofmyhands.
Twentyminutesorso,itwentonthisway.
Theshorecamecloser.Buildingsgotlarger.Allthewhile,theywerethere,blocksonthehorizon.Butallofasudden,theywerebigandgraylikeeverythingelsethatday.
Whentheferrydocked,IfollowedWillfromtheboatandacrossapier.Somewhereontheothersideofit,wehoppedabus.Iduginmybag,happytoseeIhadaMetracard.
Iclimbedaboard.Ifoundaseatbehindhim.
Thebusclompedalong,shuttlingusacrosstown.
Itwasn’tlongbeforewearrived.Anothercollegecampus.Morebuildingscoveredinbrick.Ifellbackintomyusualroutine,followingWillashewalked,mirroringhim,keepingtwentypacesbehindallthetime.
Iwatchedashemadehiswaytoabuilding.Iclimbedthestepsthirtysecondsafterhedid.Ifollowedhimtoaclassroom,stoodinthehallwayandlistenedtohimspeak.Hisvoice,itwaseasyontheears.Likeababblingbrook,theexhilaratingrushofawaterfall.Itexcitedandsubduedmeallatthesametime,mademeweakintheknees.
Willgotallfiredup,aroused,talkingaboutpopulationdensity,aboutpeoplelivinginovercrowdedconditions,drinkingdirtywater.Ipressedmybacktothewallandlistened.Nottohiswords,thosemeantnothingtome,buttothesoundofhisvoice.
Thereinthehallway,Iclosedmyeyes,madebelieveeverywordoutofhismouthwasasecretmessagemeantjustforme.
Whenpeoplecametumblingout,theywereloud,raucous.
Isteppedinwhentheroomwasempty.
Hestoodatthefrontoftheroom.Awaveofreliefwashedoverhimwhenhesawme.
Hewashappytoseeme.Hewassmiling,thisfull-outsmilethathetriedtohidebutcouldn’t.Thecornersofhislipsturnedupontheirown.
Ican’tbelieveit,hesaid,comingtome,scoopingmeupintohisarms.Ican’tbelieveyou’rehere.Whatareyoudoinghere?heasked.
Itoldhim,Icametoseeyou.Imissedyou.
Heasked,Howdidyouknowwheretofindme?
Isaidwithawink,Ifollowedyouhere.Ithinkyouhaveastalker,ProfessorFoust.
SADIE
Ijoghomefromthecoffeeshop.Thetemperatureshavedroppedevenmorethanbefore.Therainhasturnedtosleet,strikingmeintheeyessothatIstareonlyattheconcreteasIrun.Itcomesdownheavyandthick,stickingtomyclothing.Beforelong,thissleetwillbesnow.
AsIapproachourhouse,Ihearthesoundofacarengineidlingnearby,upthehill,aheadofme.IliftmyeyesintimetoseeaCrownVictoriaparkedattheendoftheNilssons’drive.Theengineisrunning,exhaustfumesdriftingpasttheredtaillightsandintothecoldair.There’samanstandingbesidetheNilssons’mailbox.Onadaysuchasthis,nooneshouldbeoutside.
Islowdownmypace,putahandtomybrowtorepelthesleet.Myviewofthemanisobstructedbecauseoftheweatherandthedistance.Butitdoesn’tmatter.Iknowwhoitis;I’vewatchedthissamescenebefore.
There,notfiftyyardsfromwhereIstand,isOfficerBerg.HehoversbehindtherearofhisCrownVictoria,withaniteminhand.Helooksaroundtobesurenoone’swatchingbeforeforcingitintotheNilssons’mailbox.Imanagetoslipbehindatreejustintime.
OfficerBerghasdonethisbefore,thesamedayheinterrogatedWillandmeinourhome.Iwatchedafterheleft,ashedrovetotheNilssons’mailboxandleftsomethingtherethatday,too.
It’sthecircumspectionthatpiquesmyinterestthemost.WhatisheleavingintheNilssonmailboxthathedoesn’twantanyoneelsetoknowabout?
Bergclosesthereceptacledoorandclimbsbackintohiscar.Hepullsaway,overthecrestofthehill.Curiositygetsthebestofme.IknowIshouldn’tandyetIdo.Ipushthewethairfrommyface,jogupthestreet.IreachinandtaketheitemfromthemailboxwithnoneofthecircumspectionOfficerBerghad.
Nearby,underthecanopyofatree,Iseethatit’sanunmarkedenvelope,sealedshut,withasheafofpaperpackedinside.Iholdtheenvelopeuptothenegligiblelight.Ican’tbecertain,butI’mquitesureit’sawadofcash.
Therevofacarengineinthedistancestartlesme.Ithrusttheenvelopebackinthemailboxandwalkquicklyhome.
It’smidmorning,butforasdrearyasitisoutside,itmightaswellbethemiddleofthenight.Ihurryinsidemyhome,closingandlockingthedoorbehindmyself.ThedogscomerunningtogreetmeandI’mgratefulfortheircompany.
Iturnawayfromthewindow.Inthefoyer,Itripoversomething.It’satoy,oneofTate’stoys,which,uponcloserinspection,isadoll.Ithinknothingofit,thefactthatit’sadoll.We’renotintogender-specifictoysinourhome.IfTatewantstoplaywithadolloverTransformers,sobeit.Butit’stheplacementofitthatupsetsme,lyinginthemiddleofthefoyersothatsomeonemighttrip.Ikickitaside,takingmyanxietyoutonthepoordoll.
IcallWillbuthe’sinthemiddleofalecture.Whenhefinallygetsachancetocallmeback,Itellhimaboutthecoronerreport,abouttheboningknife.ButWillalreadyknowsbecausehereadaboutitoncehereachedthemainlandthismorning.
“It’shorrible,”hesays,andtogetherwechewoverhowtragicandunthinkablethewholethingis.
“Arewesafehere?”IaskWill,andwhenhehesitates—becausehowcaneitherofusknowifwe’resafe?—Isaydecisively,“Ithinkthatweshouldleave.”
Beforehecanargue,Isay,“Imogenwouldcomewithus,ofcourse.”
WhatIdon’tsayisthatonourturf,we’dhavetheupperhand.I’dfeelasenseofcontroloverImogenthatIdon’tfeelnow.
“Leaveandgowhere?”Willasks,butitseemssoobvioustome,thewaythatourfreshstartisn’tsofreshafterall.OurstayinMainehasbeenstormy,tosaytheleast.Ifanything,ourliveshavegottenworsesincebeinghere.
“Home,”Itellhim,butheonlyasks,“Whereishomeanymore,Sadie?”andatthosewords,myheartaches.
OurChicagocondo,theonewhereWillandIspentourentiremarriedlivesuntilnow,isgone,soldtoacoupleofmillennials.Myjobatthehospitalisgone,too,nodoubtreplacedwithsomeyoungrecentmedschoolgrad.Ottocanneverreturntohispublicschool,norTatetohis,notbecauseofanythinghedid,butbecausehe’sguiltybyassociation.They’dbothneedtogotosomeprivateschool,andonWill’ssalaryalone—assuminghecouldevengethisoldjobback—thatwouldneverwork.
WhenIsaynothing,Willsays,“Let’stalkaboutthiswhenIgethome,”andIsayokay.Iendthecallandmakemywayintothekitchentostarttheteakettle.AsIcrossintothekitchen,Iseeourknivesandamstrickenwithamorbidcuriositytoseeformyselfwhataboningknifeis,whatonelookslike,toholditinmyhand.Willhasasetofkniveshekeepsinawoodenblockonthecounter,justoutofreachofTate’sinquisitivehands.
Igototheblock.Idon’tknowwhataboningknifeis,butaninternetsearchtellsmeI’mlookingforanarchedbladewithaverysharppoint,fivetonineincheslong.Iyankonthehandlesoftheknives,pullingthemoutinturntoexaminetheirblades.Itdoesn’ttakelongtoseethatthere’snoknifematchingthedescriptionintheblock.Furthermore,Iseethatonespaceonthewoodenblockisempty.Thissetoftwenty-oneknivesonlycontainstwenty.Oneknifeisgone.
Myimaginationgetsthebestofme.Itrytostaycalm,sensible,rememberingagainaboutOccam’srazor.Maybesomeotherknifebelongshere.MaybeWilldoesn’townaboningknife.Maybethemissingknifeisinthesink,thoughIlookandit’snot.MaybeWilllostthatknifelongago,oritgotplacedinthecutlerydrawerbymistake.Ipullopenthedrawer,riflethroughAlice’smodestcollectionofknives—steakanddinnerknivesmostly,aparingknife,onewithaserratededge—butit’snotthere.
IthinkofImogeninourbedroomatnight.Youhearstoriesaboutchildrenmurderingtheirparentsinthemiddleofthenight.Ithappens;it’snotthatfar-fetched.AndImogenisahostilegirl,adamagedgirl.Idon’tknowthatI’dputitpasthertotakethatknifetothreatenmewith,orworse.
Iturnandstepfromthekitchen.Iclimbthestepstothesecondfloor,myslickhandgrippingthebanister.Igotoherroom,planningtosearchitasIdidtheothernight,butmyplanisquicklyderailedwhenIcometoherdoorandrealizethere’snogettinginwithoutthepadlockkey.
Icurse,shakingonthedoorhandle.ItryanothercalltoWilltotellhimaboutthemissingknife,buthe’sonhiswayhomenow,likelyontheferry,wherereceptionisspotty.Mycalldoesn’tgothrough.Iputmyphoneaway,relievedtoknowthathe’llbehomesoon.
Ifindsomethingtokeepmyselfbusy.Idustthehouse.Istripthesheetsfromthebeds.Istarttogathertheminapiletolugdowntothelaundryroom.
Inourbedroom,Itugonthefittedsheet.AsIdo,somethingblackcomesskiddingoutfrommysideofthebed,somethingthathadbeenwedgedbetweenthemattressandthebedframeforsometime.Astheobjectslewshalfwayacrossthebedroomfloor,myfirstinstinctistothinkit’stheremotecontrolforthebedroomTVwerarelyuse.Igotopickitup.AsIdo,Irealizethatit’snotaremote,butratheraphone,onewhichisneitherWill’snormine.Iturnitoverinmyhands.There’snothingdiscernibleaboutit.It’ssimplyaphone,anoldergenerationiPhone.PerhapsAlice’s,Ithink,notingthatthephoneisnot-surprisinglydead.Aliceherselfhasbeendeadforquitesometime.Ofcoursethephonewouldbedead,too.
Backdownstairsinadrawerfullofgadgets,Ifindachargerthatfits.Iplugitintoanoutletinthelivingroomwall,stretchingthephonetothefireplacemantel.
IgobacktostraighteningthehouseuntilWillarrivessoonafterwithTateintow.Igreettheminthefoyer,andWillseesitinmyeyesstraightaway:somethingiswrong.
BothheandTatearewetwithsnow.It’sontheircoats,ontheirhair,meltingquickly.Tatestompsitfromhisfeet,creatingapuddleonthewood.He’stryingtotellmeastoryaboutsomethingthathappenedatschooltoday,somethinghelearned.HestartstosingasongbutI’mnotlistening,andneitherisWill
“Takeyourshoesoff,”Willtellshim,beforehelpingTateoutofhiscoat.Hehangsitfromthehookinthedarkenedfoyer,anditoccurstomethatIshouldturnonalight,butIdon’t.
“Doyoulikeit,Mommy?”Tateasksaboutthesong.“Daysoftheweek,daysoftheweek,daysoftheweek,”hesingsintunetoTheAddamsFamilythemesong,clappingtwicebetweeneachline.ThoughIhearhim,Idon’treply.“Doyoulikeit?”heasks,louderthistime,nearlyscreaming.
Inodmyhead,butI’mjustbarelylistening.Ihearhissong,butmymindcan’tprocessitbecauseallI’mthinkingaboutisthemissingknife.
Tatedoesn’tlikethebrush-off.Hispostureshifts;hethrowshisarmsacrosshimselfandbeginstopout.
Willturnstome,wrappinghisarmsaroundme.Itfeelsgood,beingheld.
“I’velookedintohomesecuritysystems,”hetellsme,returningtotheconversationwestartedonthephoneearliertoday,aboutwhetherornotwe’resafehere.“Isetupanappointmenttohaveoneinstalled.Andlet’sgiveOfficerBergachancetogettothebottomofthis,beforewecutandrun.Thisisourhome,Sadie.Whetherwelikeitornot,fornowthisisourhome.Wehavetomakedo.”
Ipullbackfromhisembrace.He’stryingtobereassuring.ButIdon’tfeelreassured.Imeethiseye,andask,“Butwhatifasecuritysystemcan’tprotectus?”
Hislookisquizzical.“Whatdoyoumean?”heasks.
“Whatifthere’sathreatinsideourhome?”
“Youmeanasifsomeonegotpastthesecuritysystem?”heasks,assuringmethatwecouldkeepthehousearmedatalltimes,thatthesethingsaremonitoredtwenty-fourhoursaday.Ifthealarmwastriggered,helpwouldbeonitswayalmostinstantly.
“It’snotanintruderI’mthinkingabout,”Isay.“It’sImogen.”
Willshakeshishead,disbelieving.“Imogen?”heasks,andIsayyes.“Youcan’tpossiblythink—”hebegins,butIinterrupthim.
“Ourk-n-i-f-e,”Itellhim,spellingthewordoutforTate’sbenefit.Tatecanspell,butnotwellenough.“Ourboningk-n-i-f-eisn’there.Ican’tfindit,”Isay,admittinginaforcedwhisper,“Shescaresme,Will.”
Ithinkaboutherinourbedroomtheothernight,watchingussleep.Thestrangeexchangewehadinthehallway.Thephotographofherdeadmotherthatshecarriesaroundonherphone.Theseareabnormalbehaviors.
Andthenthere’sthepadlockonherbedroomdoor.“There’ssomethinginthereshedoesn’twantustofind,”Isay,finallyadmittingtohimthatIwasintheretheotherday,beforethelockwasinstalled.ItellhimaboutthepictureIfoundwiththeman’sfacescratchedoff,theDearJohnnote,thecondoms.“She’sbeensleepingwithsomeone,”Itellhim.“Amarriedman,Ithink,”basedonthecontentofthenote.
Willdoesn’tsaymuchtothis.He’smoredisappointedthatIwouldviolateherprivacybysnoopingthroughherroom.Whathedoessay,however,isthatthere’snothingcriminalaboutsleepingwithamarriedman.“She’ssixteen,”Willremindsme.“Sixteen-year-oldsdostupidthingsallthetime.Youknowwhysheputthatlockonthedoor?”Willasks,sayingbeforeIcanreply,“She’sateenager,Sadie.That’swhy.Shedoesn’twantpeoplecomingintoherroom.Howwouldyoufeelifshewentsnoopingthroughyourstuff?”heasks.
“Itwouldn’tmatter,”Itellhim.“Ihavenothingtohide.ButImogenisanangrygirlwithashortfuse,Will,”Iargue.“Sheworriesme.”
“Tryputtingyourselfinhershoes,Sadie.Youdon’tthinkyou’dbeangry?”heasks,andofcourseI’dbegrievinganduncomfortable—mymotherdeadbyherownhand,meforcedtolivewithpeopleIdon’tknow—butwouldIbeangry?“WehavenoideawhatImogensawthatday,”heasserts.“Ifwe’dseenwhatshemusthaveseen,we’dbeonashortfuse,too.Youcan’tunseethat.
“Besides,”Willtellsme,comingbacktotheknife,“Iusedtheboningknifejusttheotherdaytoskinchickenforacasserole.You’reallworkedupfornothing,Sadie,”hesays,askingifIcheckedthedishwasherfortheknife.Ididn’t.Ididn’teventhinktolookinthedishwasher.
Butitdoesn’tmatterrightnow,becausemymindhasmovedonfromtheknifeandtothepictureonImogen’scellphone.TheoneofAlicedead.IknowexactlywhatImogensawthedayhermotherdied,thoughI’mreluctanttotellWillbecausethelastthingheneedstoseeiswhatAlicewentthrough.AndyetItellhimanywaybecauseitisn’tright,itisn’tnormal,forImogentohavetakenapictureofAlicepostmortemandforhertobecarryingitaround.Whatisshedoingwithitanyway?Showingherfriends?
IlookawayfromWill.IconfesstohimthatIdoknowwhatImogensaw.“ImogentookapicturethatdaybeforethecoronertookAliceaway.Sheshowedittome,”Isay.
Willgrowssuddenlysilentforamoment.Heswallowshard.
“Shetookapicture?”heasksaftersometime.Inod.“Whatdidshelooklike?”heasks,meaningAlice.
I’mgenerallynondescript.“Well,shewasd-e-a-d,”Itellhim,treadinglightly.“Butshelookedpeaceful,”Ilie.Idon’ttellhimaboutclawmarks,theseveredtongue.Idon’ttellhimaboutthestateoftheattic,thetoppledstorageboxes,thebrokenlamp,thepitchpoledtelescope.ButIre-createtheminmymind,imaginingAlice’sthrashingbodyknockingintothesethings,topplingthem,asheroxygensupplywassiphonedoff.
AsIdredgeuptheimagesofthem,somethinggetsundermyskin.BecauseIpicturetheboxesandthelampoverturned,andyetthestepstool—theoneAliceusedtoraiseherselfuptotheheightofthenoose—stoodupright.Irememberthatnow.
HowcouldtheverythingthatAlicewouldhaveneededtokickawaytogothroughwiththesuicidenotbeoverturned?
Evenmore,thestoolwasoutofreachofAlice’sbody.Whichmakesmethinksomeoneelseyankeditfrombeneathherfeet.
Inwhichcase,wasitevenasuicide?Orwasitmurder?
Iturnwhite.Ahandgoestomymouth.“What’swrong?”Willasks.“Everythingallright?”Ishakemyhead,tellhimno,Idon’tthinkso.
“Ijustrealizedsomething,”Isay,andheaskswithurgency,“What?”
“ThepictureofAlice.OnImogen’sphone,”Isay.
“Whataboutit?”heasks.
“Thepolicehadn’tcomeyetwhenImogentookthepicture.ItwasonlyImogen,”Isay,wonderinghowmuchtimelapsedinbetweenherarrivinghomeandcallingthepolice.WasitenoughtimeforImogentostageasuicide?Imogenistall,butshe’snotheavilybuilt.Ican’timagineshe’dhavehadthestrengthtohaulAlicetothethirdfloor—evenifAlicewasdruggedandunconscious,unabletofightback—tohoistherupandintothenoose.Notalone.Someonewouldhavehadtohelpher.Iconsiderthefriendsshesmokeswithwhilewaitingfortheferrytoarrive.Cladinallblack,rebelliousandoppositional,fullofself-loathing.Wouldtheyhavehelped?
“Inthepicture,Will,thestepstoolwefoundintheattic.TheoneAlicewouldhavehadtousetodowhatshedid.Everythingelsewasknockedover.Butthestoolremainedupright.AnditwastoofarawayforAlicetoreach.Ifshe’dbeenalone,thestoolwouldhavebeenknockedover,anditwouldhavebeenmuchclosertoherfeet.”
Heshakeshishead.“Whatareyougettingat?”heasks,andIseeachangecomeoverhim.Hispostureshifts.Rutsformbetweenhiseyes.Hefrownsatme.HeknowswhatI’msuggesting.
“Howcanweknowforcertain,”Iask,“thatitwasas-u-i-c-i-d-e?Therewasnoinvestigation.Buttherewasalsononote.Don’tpeoplewhok-i-l-lthemselvesusuallyleaveanote?OfficerBergsaidithimself,remember?HetoldusheneverpeggedAliceforthetype.”
“HowwouldBergknow,”Willasksangrily,“ifAlicewasthesuicidetype?”Itisn’tlikeWilltogetangry.Butthisishissisterwe’retalkingabout.Hisniece.Hisfleshandblood.
“Idon’ttrustImogen,”Iadmit.“Shescaresme,”Isayagain.
“Listentoyourself,Sadie,”Willsays.“FirstyouaccuseImogenoftakingourknife.Nowyou’resayingshekilledAlice.”Willistooworkeduptospellthewordsout,thoughhemouthsthemforTate’sbenefit.“You’reallovertheplace.Iknowshehasn’texactlybeenwelcoming,butshe’sdonenothingtoleadmetobelieveshe’scapableofmurder,”hesays,seeminglyhavingalreadyforgottenaboutthewritingonmycarwindowjusttheotherday.Die.
“Areyoureallysuggestingthatthiswasamurdermadetolooklikeasuicide?”heasks,disbelieving.
BeforeIcanreply,Tateagainbegs,“Please,Mommy,playwithme.”Myeyesdroptohis,andtheylooksosad,myheartaches.
“Allright,Tate,”Itellhim,feelingguiltythatWillandIaregoingonlikethis,ignoringhim.“Whatdoyouwanttoplay?”Iaskhim,voicesofteningthoughmyinsidesarestillinatizzy.“Doyouwanttoplaycharades,oraboardgame?”
Hetugshardonmyhandandischanting,“Statuegame,statuegame!”
Thewrenchingonmyhandhasbeguntohurt.It’swearingonmynerves,becausenotonlyishepullingonmyhand,hurtingme,buthe’stryingtoturnmybody,tomakeitgowaysitdoesn’twanttogo.It’ssubliminal,thewayIyankmyhandsuddenlyaway,holdingitabovemyhead,outofreachofhis.Idon’tmeantodoit.Butthere’sanimmediacytoit.SomuchsothatTateflincheslikehe’sbeenslapped.
“Please,Mommy,”Tatebegs,eyessuddenlysadashestandsbeforemeandleapsformyhand.Itrytobepatient,Ireallydo,butmymindiswhirlinginadozendifferentdirectionsandIdon’tknowwhatTatemeansbythisstatuegame.He’sbeguntocry.Notarealcrybutcrocodiletears,whichwearonmeevenmore.
That’swhenIcatchsightofthedollIkickedasideoveranhourago.Herlimpbodyispressedagainstthewall.“Putyourtoysawayandthenwe’llplay,”Itellhim,andheasks,“Whattoys?”
“Yourdoll,Tate,”Isay,losingpatience.“Rightthere,”Itellhim,motioningtothefloppydollwithherfrizzyhairandmarble-likeeyes.Sheliesonherside,dresstornalongaseam,oneshoemissing.
Tate’slookisleery.“It’snotmine,”hesays,asifthisissomethingIshouldknow.Butofcourseit’shis—it’snotlikeanyoftherestofusstillplaywithtoys—andmyfirstthoughtisthatTateisembarrassedforhavingbeencaughtplayingwithadoll.
“Putitaway,”Isay,andTatecomesbackwithaquintessentialchildishreply
“Youputyourdollaway,”hesays,handsonhips,tonguethrustoutatme.Itstartlesme.It’snotlikeTatetoactthisway.Tateismygoodboy,thekindandobedientone.Iwonderwhat’sgottenintohim.
ButbeforeIcananswer,Willdoessoforme.“Tate,”hesays,voicestern.“Doasyourmothersaysandputyourtoyaway.Rightnow,”hesays,“oryourmotherwon’tplaywithyou.”
Havingnochoice,Tatepicksthedollupbyasinglelegandcarriesherupsidedowntohisbedroom.Throughthefloors,Ihearthethumpofherplasticheadhittingthehardwood.
Whenhereturns,Tatechants,“Statuegame,statuegame,”overandoveragainuntilI’mforcedtoadmitthatIdon’tknowwhatthisstatuegameis.ThatI’veneverplayeditbefore,thatI’veneverheardofit.
It’sthenthathesnapsandcallsmealiar.“Mommyisaliar!”iswhathescreams,takingmybreathaway.Hesays,“Yes,youdo!”ashiscrocodiletearsturntorealtears.“Youdoknowwhatitis,youliar.”
Ishouldreprimandhim,Iknow.ButI’mspeechlessandstunned.Forthenextfewseconds,Ican’tfindthewordstospeakasTatescampersfromtheroom,barefeetslidingonthewoodenfloors.BeforeIcancatchmybreath,he’sgone.Inthenextroom,Ihearhisbodydroptotheground.He’sthrownhimselfdownsomewhere,aslimpasthedoll.Idonothing.
Willstepscloser,hishandbrushingthehairfrommyeyes.Iclosemyeyesandleanintohistouch.“Maybeawarmbathwouldhelpyourelax?”hesuggests,andit’sonlythenthatIrememberIhaven’tshoweredtoday.ThatinsteadI’mwetthroughfromtherunintherain.Myclothes,myhairhaveyettocompletelydry.There’sasmelltome.It’snotagoodone.
“Takeyourtime,”Willtellsme.“TateandIwillbefine.I’lltakecareofthis,”hesays,andIfeelgratefulforthat.ThatWillwillcleanupthismessI’vemadewithTate.BythetimeIreturnfrommybath,everythingwillbeasgoodasnew.
OnthewayupstairsIcallbacktoTatethatwe’llplaysomethingjustassoonasI’mthrough.“Okay,buddy?”Iask,leaningoverthebanisterwhereIseehim,bodythrownacrossthearmofthesofa,tearsseepingintothemarigoldfabric.Ifhehearsme,hemakesnoreply.
Beneathmyfeet,thestepscreak.Upstairsinthehall,Ifindthesheetsstrippedfromthebeds,justwhereIleftthem.I’llreplacethemlater,putthembackonthebedsjustasdirtyastheywerewhenItookthemoff.
Thedarknessoftheoutsideworldseepsintothehome,makingithardtobelieveit’snotthemiddleofthenight.Iflipalightinthehallwayon,butthenjustasquicklyturnitoff,ontheoffchancethatsomeoneisstandinginthestreet,staringthroughthewindowsatWill,Tateandme.
MOUSE
NotlongaftertheybroughtBerttheguineapighome,hestartedgettingfat.Sofatthathecouldbarelymove.Hespenthisdayslaidout,flatonhisbigbellylikeaparachute.HerfatherandFakeMomtoldMouseshewasfeedinghimtoomanycarrots.Thatwaswhyhewasgettingfat.ButMousecouldn’thelpherself.Bertlovedthosecarrots.HemadeasquealingsoundeverytimeMousebroughthimsome.Eventhoughsheknewsheshouldn’t,shekeptonfeedinghimthecarrots.
Butthenoneday,Bertgavebirthtobabies.ThatwashowMouseknewthatBertwasn’taboyafterall,butthathewasagirl,becausesheknewenoughtoknowthatboysdon’thavebabies.ThosebabiesmusthavealreadybeeninsideBertwhentheygotherfromthepetstore.Mousewasn’tsurehowtotakecareofguineapigbabies,butitdidn’tmatterbecausenoneofthosebabiessurvived.Notasingleone.
Mousecried.Shedidn’tliketoseeanythinggethurt.Shedidn’tliketoseeanythingdie.
MousetoldherrealmomwhathappenedtoBert’sbabies.ShetoldherwhatthosebabieslookedlikewhentheywerebornandhowharditwasforBerttogetthosebabiesoutofherinsides.SheaskedhermotherhowthosebabiesgotinsideofBert,butMouse’srealmomdidn’tsay.Sheaskedherfather,too.Hetoldherhe’dtellheranotherday,whenshewasolder.ButMousedidn’twanttoknowanotherday.Shewantedtoknowthatday.
FakeMomtoldherthatitwasprobablyBert’sfaultthosebabiesdied,becauseBertdidn’ttakecareofthemlikeagoodmomshould.ButMouse’sfathersaidtoherinprivatethatitwasn’treallyBert’sfault,becauseBertprobablyjustdidn’tknowanybetterbecauseshehadneverbeenamombefore.Andsometimesthesethingshappenfornoreasonatall.
Theyscoopedupwhatwasleftofthebabiesandburiedtheminonebigholeinthebackyard.Mouselaidacarrotontop,justincasetheywouldhavelikedcarrotsasmuchasBertlikedcarrots.
ButMousesawthelookonFakeMom’sface.Shewashappythosebabiesweredead.MousethoughtthatmaybeFakeMomhadsomethingtodowithBert’sbabiesdying.Becauseshedidn’tlikehavingonerodentinthehouse,letalonefiveorsix.ShesaidthattoMouseallthetime.
Mousecouldn’thelpbutthinkthatitwasFakeMomwhomadeBert’sbabiesdie,ratherthanBert.Butshedidn’tdaresaythisbecausesheguessedthere’dbehelltopayforthat,too.
Mouselearnedalotaboutanimalsfromwatchingthemthroughherbedroomwindow.She’dsitonthewindowseatandstareoutintothetreesthatsurroundedherhouse.Therewerelotsoftreesintheyard,whichmeantlotsofanimals.Because,asMouseknewfromthebookssheread,thetreeshadthingsthatanimalsneeded,likeshelterandfood.Thetreesmadetheanimalscome.Mousewasthankfulforthetrees.
Mouselearnedhowtheanimalsgotalongwithoneanother.Shelearnedwhattheyate.Shelearnedthattheyallhadawayofprotectingthemselvesfromthemeananimalswhowantedtohurtthem.Therabbits,forexample,ranrealfast.Theyalsohadawayofsnakingaroundtheyard,nevergoinginastraightline,whichmadeithardfortheneighbor’scattocatchupwiththem.Mouseplayedthatoutinherbedroomsometimes.Sheraninazigzag,leapingfromdesktobed,pretendingthatsomeoneorsomethingwascomingatherfrombehindandshewastryingtogetaway.
Otheranimals,Mousesaw,usedcamouflage.Theyblendedrightintotheirsurroundings.Brownsquirrelsonbrowntrees,whiterabbitsinwhitesnow.Mousetriedthat,too.Shedressedinherred-and-pink-stripedshirt,layonherragrug,whichwasalsoredandstriped.Thereshemadebelieveshewasinvisibleonaccountofhercamouflage,thatifsomeonecameintotheroomthey’dsteprightonherbecausetheycouldn’tseeherlyinghere.
Otheranimalsplayeddeadorfoughtback.Stillotherscameoutonlyatnightsotheywouldn’tbeseen.Mouseneversawthoseanimals.Shewasasleepwhentheycameout.Butinthemorning,Mousewouldseetheirtracksacrossthesnowordirt.That’showshe’dknowthey’dbeenthere.
Mousetriedthat,too.Shetriedtobenocturnal.
Sheleftherbedroom,andtiptoedaroundherhousewhenshethoughtherfatherandFakeMomwereasleep.HerfatherandFakeMomsleptinherfather’sroomonthefirstfloor.Mousedidn’tlikehowFakeMomsleptinherfather’sbed.Becausethatwasherfather’sbed,notFakeMom’s.FakeMomshouldgetherownbed,inherownbedroom,inherownhouse.That’swhatMousethought.
ButthenightMousewasnocturnal,FakeMomwasnotasleepinherfather’sbed.That’showsheknewthatFakeMomdidn’talwayssleep,thatsometimesshewasnocturnal,too.Becausesometimesshestoodatthekitchencounterwithnotonelighton,talkingtoherself,thoughneveranythingsensible,butjustabunchofpoppycock.MousesaidnothingatallwhenshefoundFakeMomawakelikethat,butquietlyturnedandtiptoedbackthewayshecamefromandwenttosleep.
Ofalltheanimals,Mouselikedthebirdsthebest,becausethereweresomanydifferentkindsofbirds.Mouselikedthattheymainlyallgotalong,allexceptforthehawkwhotriedtoeattherestofthem,whichshedidn’tthinkwasnice
ButMousealsothoughtthatwaskindofhowpeopleare,howtheymainlygetalongexceptforafewwhotrytohurteveryoneelse.
Mousedecidedthatshedidn’tlikethehawk,becausethehawkwasruthlessandsneakyandmean.Itdidn’tcarewhatitate,evenifitwasbabybirds.Especially,sometimes,ifitwasbabybirdsbecausetheydidn’thaveitinthemtofightback.Theywereaneasytarget.Thehawkhadgoodeyesight,too.Evenwhenyoudidn’tthinkitwaswatching,itwas,likeithadeyesonthebackofitshead.
IntimeMousecametothinkofFakeMomalittlebitlikethathawk.BecauseshestartedpickingonMousemoreandmorewhenherfatherwenttohisotheroffice,orwhenhewastalkingonthephonebehindthecloseddoor.FakeMomknewthatMousewaslikeoneofthosebabybirdswhocouldn’tdefendherselfinthesamewayamomordadbirdcould.Itwasn’tasifFakeMomtriedtoeatMouselikethehawkstriedtoeatthebabybirds.Thiswasdifferent,moresubtle.BumpingMousewithherelbowwhenshepassedby.StealingthelastoftheSalernoButterCookiesfromMouse’splate.Saying,ateverychanceshecould,howmuchshehatedmice.Howmicearedirtylittlerodents.
MouseandherfatherspentalotoftimetogetherbeforeFakeMomarrived.Hetaughtherhowtoplaycatch,howtothrowacurveball,howtoslideintosecondbasewithapop-upslide.Theywatchedoldblack-and-whitemoviestogether.Theyplayedgames,Monopolyandcardgamesandchess.Theyevenhadtheirveryownmade-upgamethatdidn’thaveaname,justoneofthosethingstheycameupwithonarainyafternoon.They’dstandinthelivingroom,spinincirclesuntiltheywerebothdizzy.Whentheystopped,theyfrozeinplace,holdingwhateversillypositiontheylandedin.Thefirsttomovewastheloser,whichwasusuallyMouse’sfatherbecausehemovedonpurposesothatMousecouldwin,sameashedidwithMonopolyandchess.
Mouseandherfatherlikedtogocamping.Whentheweatherwasnicethey’dloadtheirtentandsuppliesintothebackofherfather’scaranddriveintothewoods.There,Mousewouldhelpherfatherpitchthetentandgathersticksforacampfire.They’droastmarshmallowsoverthefire.Mouselikeditbestwhentheywerecrispyandbrownontheoutside,butmushyandwhiteinside.
ButFakeMomdidn’tlikeforMouseandherfathertogocamping.Becausewhentheydid,theyweregoneallnight.FakeMomdidn’tliketobeleftalone.ShewantedMouse’sfatherhomewithher.WhenshesawMouseandherfatherinthegarage,gatheringupthetentandthesleepingbags,she’dpressinclosetohiminthatwaythatmadeMouseuncomfortable.She’dlayherhandonMouse’sdad’schestandnuzzlehernoseintohisnecklikeshewassmellingit.FakeMomwouldhugandkisshim,andtellMouse’sfatherhowlonelyshewaswhenhewasaway,howshegotscaredatnightwhenshewastheonlyonehome.
Mouse’sfatherwouldputthetentaway,tellMouse,Anothertime.ButMousewasasmartgirl.SheknewthatAnothertimereallymeantNever
SADIE
IstepintoanexamroomtofindOfficerBergwaitingforme.
Heisn’tsittingontheexamtablewhenIcomein,asotherpatientswoulddo.Instead,heamblesaroundtheroom,tinkeringwiththings.Heliftsthelidsoffthesundryjars,stepsonthefootpedalofthestainless-steelgarbage.
AsIwatch,hehelpshimselftoapairoflatexgloves,andIsay,“Thosearen’tfree,youknow?”
OfficerBergstuffstheglovesbackintothecardboardbox,saying,“Youcaughtme,”ashegoesontoexplainhowhisgrandsonlikestomakeballoonswiththem.
“You’renotfeelingwell,Officer?”IaskasIclosethedoorbehindmyselfandreachforhisfile,onlytofindtheplasticboxwhereweleavethemempty.Myquestionisrhetorical,itseems.ItcomestomequitequicklythenthatOfficerBergisfeelingfine.Thathedoesn’thaveanappointment,butthathe’sheretospeakwithme.
Thisisn’tanexambutratheraninterrogation.
“Ithoughtwecouldfinishourconversation,”hesays.Helooksmoretiredtodaythanhedidbefore,thelasttimeIsawhim,whenhewasalreadytired.Hisskinisrawfromthewinterweather,windblownandred.Ithinkthatit’sfromallthattimespentoutdoors,watchingtheferrycomeandgo.
Therehavebeenmorepolicethanusualaroundtheisland,detectivesfromthemainlandtryingtosteponOfficerBerg’stoes.Iwonderwhathethinksofthat.Thelasttimetherewasamurderontheislanditwas1985.Itwasgoryandghastlyandstillunsolved.Crimesagainstpropertyarefrequent;crimesagainstpersonsrare.OfficerBergdoesn’twanttoendupwithanothercoldcasewhentheinvestigationisthrough.Heneedstofindsomeonetopinthismurderon.
“Whichconversationisthat?”Iask,asIsetmyselfdownontheswivelstool.It’sadecisionIregretatoncebecauseOfficerBergstandstwofeetabovemenow.I’mforcedtolookuptohimlikeachild.
Hesays,“Theonewebeganinyourcartheotherday,”andIfeelaglimmerofhopeforthefirsttimeindaysbecauseInowhavetheevidenceonmyphonetoproveIdidn’targuewithMorganBainesthedayMr.NilssonsaysIdid.Iwashereattheclinicthatday.
IsaytoOfficerBerg,“Itoldyoualready,Ididn’tknowMorgan.Weneverspoke.Isn’titpossiblethatMr.Nilssonismistaken?Heisgettingoninyears,”Iremindhim.
“Ofcourseit’spossible,Dr.Foust,”hebegins,butIstophimthere.I’mnotinterestedinhistheorieswhenIhaveproof.
“YoutoldmethattheincidentbetweenMorganandmehappenedonDecemberfirst.AFriday,”IsayasIretrievemycellphonefromthepocketofmysmock.IopenthephotosappandswipeacrosseachimageuntilIfindtheoneI’mlookingfor.
“ThethingisthatonDecemberfirst,”IsaywhenIfindit,“Iwashereattheclinic,workingallday.Icouldn’thavebeenwithMorganbecauseIcan’tbeintwoplacesatonetime,canI?”Iask,mywordsrightfullysmug.
IhandhimmyphonesohecanseeforhimselfwhatI’mtalkingabout.Thephotographoftheclinic’sdry-erasecalendarwhereEmmahaswrittenmyname,schedulingmeforanine-hourshiftonFriday,Decemberfirst.
OfficerBerglooksitover.There’sthismomentofhesitationbeforetherealizationsetsin.Hegivesin.Henods.Hedropstotheedgeoftheexamtable,eyeslockedonthephotograph.Herubsatthedeeptrenchesofhisforehead,mouthtuggingdownatthecornersintoafrown.
Iwouldfeelsorryforhim,ifhewasn’ttryingtopinMorgan’smurderonme.
“You’velookedintoherhusband,ofcourse,”Isay,andonlythendohiseyesrisebackuptomine,“andhisex-wife.”
“Whatmakesyousaythat?”heasks.Eitherhe’sagoodliarorheseriouslyhasn’tconsideredthatJeffreyBaineskilledhiswife.Idon’tknowwhichIfindmoredisconcerting.
“Itjustseemslikethat’sagoodplacetostart.Domesticviolenceisamajorcauseofdeathforwomenthesedays,isn’tit,Officer?”Iask.
“Morethanhalfofwomenmurdereddieatthehandsofaromanticpartner,yes,”heconfirms.“Ifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”
“Itis,”Isay.“Isn’tthatagood-enoughreasontoquestionherhusband?”
“Mr.Baineshasanalibi.Hewasoutofthecountry,asyouknow,atthetimeofthemurder.There’sproofofthat,Dr.Foust.VideosurveillanceofMr.BainesinTokyo.Hisnameontheairplane’smanifestthefollowingday.Hotelrecords.”
“Thereareotherways,”Isay,buthedoesn’ttakethebait.Hesaysinsteadthatincasesofdomesticviolence,quiteoftenmenfightwiththeirfistswhilewomenarethefirsttoreachforaweapon.
WhenIsaynothing,hetellsme,“Don’tyouknow,Doctor?Womenaren’talwaysthevictim.Theycanbetheperpetratoraswell.Thoughmenareoftenstigmatizedaswifebeaters,itworksbothways.Infact,newstudiessuggestthatwomeninitiatemorethanhalftheviolenceinvolatilerelationships.AndjealousyisthecauseofmosthomicidesintheUnitedStates.”
Idon’tknowwhatthat’ssupposedtomean.
“Anyway,”hesays,“Ididn’tcometotalkaboutJeffreyBaines,orhismarriage.Icametotalkaboutyou,Dr.Foust.”
ButIdon’twanttotalkaboutmyself.
“Mr.Baineswasmarriedbefore,”Isay,andhelooksskepticallyatmeandtellsmeheknows.“Haveyouconsideredshemighthavedonethis?Jeffrey’sex?”
“Ihaveanidea,”hesays.“HowaboutifIaskthequestionsforachange,Dr.Foust,andyouanswer?”
“I’vealreadyansweredyourquestion,”Iremindhim.Andbesides,I,too,likeJeffrey,hadanalibiatthetimeofMorgan’sdeath.IwasathomewithWill.
OfficerBergrisesfromtheendoftheexamtable.“YouwerewithapatientwhenIarrivedthismorning.IhadafewminutestovisitwithEmmaatthefrontdesk,”hetellsme.“Emmausedtogotoschoolwithmyyoungest.Wegoquiteabitback,”andheexplainsinhisusualblatheringwayhowEmmaandhisdaughter,Amy,werefriendsformanyyearsandthatheandhiswifewereinturnfriendswithEmma’smotherandfather.
Hegetstothepoint.“IspoketoEmmawhileyouwerefinishingupwithyourpatient.IwantedtobesureI’ddottedmyi’sandcrossedmyt’s,anditjustsohappenedthatIhadn’t.BecausewhenIwasspeakingtoEmmaIsawformyselfthesamethingyoujustshowedme.AndIaskedEmmaaboutit,Dr.Foust.Justtobesure.Becauseweallmakemistakes,don’twe?”
Itellhim,“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
ButIfeelmybodytenseupregardless.Myboldnessstarttowane.
“Iwantedtobesurethattheschedulehadn’tbeenchanged.SoIaskedEmmaaboutit.Itwasalongshot,ofcourse,expectinghertorememberanythingthathappenedaweekortwoago.Exceptthatshedid,becausethatdaywasunique.Emma’sdaughterhadgottensickatschoolandneededtobepickedup.Stomachflu,”hesays.“She’dthrownupatrecess.Emmaisasinglemother,youknow;sheneededtogo.ExceptthatwhatEmmaremembersfromthatdayisitwasbedlamhereattheclinic.Abacklogofpatientswaitingtobeseen.Shecouldn’tleave.”
Irisetomyfeet.“Thisessentiallydescribeseverydayhere,Officer.Weseenearlyeveryonewholiveshereontheisland.Nottomentionthatcoldandfluseasonisinfullswing.Idon’tknowwhythiswouldbeunique.”
“Becausethatday,Dr.Foust,”hesays,“eventhoughyournamewasontheschedule,youweren’therethewholeday.There’sthisgapinthemiddlewhereneitherJoycenorEmmacanaccountforyourwhereabouts.WhatEmmaremembersisyousteppingoutforlunchjustafternoon,andarrivingbacksomewhereinthevicinityofthreep.m.”
Itcomesasaswiftpunchtomygut.“That’salie,”Isay,wordscurt.Becausethatdidn’thappen.Iswellwithanger.CertainlyEmmahasmixedupherdates.PerhapsitwasThursday,Novemberthirtieth,thatherdaughterwassick,adaythatDr.Sanderswasscheduledtoworkandnotme.
ButbeforeIcansuggestthistotheofficer,hesays,“Threepatientswererescheduled.Fourchosetowait.AndEmma’sdaughter?Shesatonachairinthenurse’sofficeuntiltheendoftheschoolday.BecauseEmmawashere,makingexcusesforyourabsence.”
“That’snotwhathappened,”Itellhim.
“Youhaveprooftothecontrary?”OfficerBergasks,whichofcourseIdon’t.Nothingconcrete.
“Youcouldcalltheschool,”Imanagetothinkupjustthen.“CheckwiththeschoolnursetoseewhichdayEmma’sdaughterwassick.BecauseI’dbetmylifeonit,Officer.Itwasn’tDecemberfirst.”
Thelookhegivesmeisleery.Hesaysnothing.
“I’magooddoctor”isallIcanthinkinthatmomenttosay.“I’vesavedmanylives,Officer.Morethanyouknow,”andIthinkofallthosepeoplewhowouldnolongerbealiveifitwasn’tforme.Thosewithgunshotwoundstovitalorgans,indiabeticcomasandrespiratorydistress.Isayitagain.“I’magooddoctor.”
“Yourworkethicisn’twhatconcernsme,Doctor,”hesays.“WhatI’mtryingtogetatisthatontheafternoonofthefirst,betweenthehoursoftwelveandthree,yourwhereaboutsareunaccountedfor.Youhavenoalibi.Now,I’mnotsayingyouhadanythingtodowithMorgan’smurderorthatyouaresomehowanunfitphysician.WhatI’msayingisthatthereseemstobesomeillwillbetweenyouandMrs.Baines,somesortofhostilitythatneedsexplaining,asdoyourlies.It’sthecover-up,Dr.Foust,that’softenworsethanthecrime.Sowhydon’tyoujusttellme.JustgoonandtellmewhathappenedthatafternoonbetweenyouandMrs.Baines,”hesays.
Icrossmyarmsagainstmychest.There’snothingtosay.
“Letmeletyouinonalittlesecret,”hesaysinresponsetomysilence.“Thisisasmallislandandstoriesspreadquick.Lotsoflooselips.”
“Idon’tknowwhatthathastodowithanything.”
Hesays,“Let’sjustsaythatyourswouldn’tbethefirsthusbandwhoeverhadeyesforMrs.Baines.”
Andthenheoffersaflintystare,waitingforsomeresponse,formetobecomeindignant.
Iwon’tgivein.
Iswallowhard.Iforcemyhandsbehindme;they’vebeguntoshake.
“WillandIarehappilymarried.Madlyinlove,”Isay,forcingmyeyesonhis.WillandIweremadlyinlove,once.It’sahalf-truth,notalie.
Theliecomesnext.“Willhasneverhadeyesforanywomanbutme.”
OfficerBergsmiles.Butit’satight-lippedsmile.Asmilethatsaysheknowsbetterthantobelievethis.“Well,”hesays,carefulwithhiswords.“Mr.Foustisaveryluckyman.You’rebothlucky.Happymarriagesthesedaysareararebird.”Heraiseshislefthandtoshowmethebareringfinger.“Marriedtwice,”heconfesses,“divorcedtwice.Nomoreweddingsforme.Anyhow,”hesays,“maybeImisinterpretedwhattheysaid.”
Mywillpowerisn’tstrong.IknowIshouldn’tandyetIdo.Itakethebait.
“Whatwhosaid?”Iask.
Hetellsme,“Themothersattheschoolpickupline.Theystandinclustersoutsidethegate,waitingfortheirkidstobereleased.Theyliketotalk,togossip,asI’msureyouknow.Formost,it’stheonlyadultconversationtheyhavealldayuntiltheirhusbandscomehomefromwork.”
Itstrikesmeasaverymisogynisticthingtosay.Thatwomengossip,thathusbandswork.IwonderwhatOfficerBergthinksofWill’sandmyarrangement.Idon’task.Hegoesontosay,“It’sjustthat,whenIquestionedthem,theyalludedtothefactthatyourhusbandandMrs.Baineswerequite—What’sthewordtheyused?”hethinksaloud,deciding,“Chummy.Yes,that’sit.Chummy.Hesaidthattheywerequitechummy.”
Myreplyisimmediate.“You’vemethim.Willisoutgoing,easytogetalongwith.Everyonelikeshim.Thisdoesn’tsurpriseme.”
“No?”heasks.“Becausethedetails,”hetellsme,“surprisedmeabit.Thewaythesewomensaidtheywouldstandclose,theirconversationshushed,whisperingwordssothatnooneelsecouldhear.Oneofthewomenhadapicture.”
“ShetookapictureofWillandMorgan?”Iinterject,incredulous.Notonlyisshegossipingaboutmyhusband,butshe’stakingphotosofhim—forwhatpurpose?
“Calmdown,Dr.Foust,”hesays,thoughit’spatronizingthewayhesaysit.Onthesurface,Iamcalm,thoughinsidemyheartisracing.“Shetookapictureofhersoncomingoutofschool.He’dreceivedthePrincipal’sAward,”heexplains,findingthephotothatthiswomansharedandshowingittome.Hersonstandsintheforeground.Maybetenyearsold,amopofflaxenhairthathangsintohiseyes,hiswintercoatunzipped,shoeuntied.InhishandsheholdsacertificatethatreadsPrincipal’sAward,abigdealinelementaryschool,thoughitshouldn’tbe.Becausebytheendoftheyeareveryonegetsone.Butforthekids,it’sabigdeal.Theboy’sgriniswide.He’sproudofhiscertificate.
Myeyesmovetothebackground.TherestandWillandMorgan,justasOfficerBergdescribed.Theystandcloseinawaythatmakesmystomachchurn.He’sturnedtowardher,facingher,hishandonherarm.There’ssadnessonherface,inhereyes.It’splaintosee.Historsoisbentatthewaistsothatheslopesintoherbytwentyorthirtydegrees.Hisfaceisonlyinchesfromhers.Hislipsareparted,eyeslockedonhers.
He’sspeakingtoher,tellinghersomething.
WhatwasWilltellingherwhenthispicturewastaken?
Whatwashesayingthathehadtobestandingsoclosetosayit?
“Looksalittlesuspect,ifyouaskme,”OfficerBergsays,snatchingthephotographfromme.
“Ididn’task,”Ithinkaloud,gettingangry,unabletostopthewordsthatcomenext.
“Isawyou,”Irememberjustthen.“IsawyouputsomethingintotheNilssons’mailbox,Officer.Twice.Itwasmoney,”Isay.Anindictment.
OfficerBergremainscomposed.“Howdidyouknowitwasmoney?”
“Iwascurious,”Itellhim.“Iwatchedyou.Afteryouleft,Iwenttosee.”
“Mailfraudisafederalcrime.Itcarriesaheftypenalty,Dr.Foust.Uptofiveyearsinprison,asteepfine.”
“Butthiswasn’tmail,wasit?Mailgoesthroughthepostalservice.Thisdidn’t.Youputitthere.Which,inandofitself,isacrime,Ibelieve.”
Tothis,hesaysnothing.
“Whatwasit,Officer?Akickback,hushmoney?”BecausethereseemsnootherlogicalexplanationwhyOfficerBergwouldsecretlyplaceanenvelopeofbillsintheNilssons’mailbox,andallatonce,puzzlepiecesdropintoplace.
“DidyoupayMr.Nilssontolie?”Iask,dismayed.“Tosayhesawmewhenhedidn’t?”
Becausewithoutamurderer,OfficerBergneededonlyascapegoat,someonetoblameforthecrimeofkillingMorganBaines.
Hechoseme.
Bergleansagainstthecountertop.Hewringshishandsbeforehim.Itakeadeepbreathandgathermyself,spinningtheconversationinadifferentdirection.“Howmuchdoesobstructionofjusticegoforthesedays?”Iask.
“Pardonme?”
Imakesuremyquestionisclearthistime.“HowmuchdidyoupayMr.Nilssontolieforyou?”Iask.
Abeatofsilencepassesby.Allthewhilehewatchesme,surpriseturningtosadness.“Ialmostwishthatwasthecase,Doctor,”hesays,loweringhishead.“Butno.Unfortunatelynot.TheNilssonshavefallenonhardtimes.They’renearlybroke.Theirsongotinsometrouble,andGeorgeandPoppyspenthalftheirsavingstohelphimout.Nowthere’stalkthatthecitymighttaketheirhomeifGeorgecan’tfindawaytopayhismunicipaltaxesontime.PoorGeorge,”hesighs.“ButGeorgeisaproudman.It’dkillhimtoaskforhelp.Ikeepmydonationsanonymous,soitdoesn’tfeellikeahandout.I’dappreciateitifyoudidn’tsayanything,”hesays.
Hetakesastepclosertomeandsays,“Look,Dr.Foust.Betweenyouandme,Idon’tthinkyou’recapableofmurder.Butthetruthisthatspousesdon’talwaysmakethemostviablealibis.They’resubjecttobias;there’samotivetolie.ThefactthatyouandyourhusbandbothclaimyouwereathomewhenMorganwaskilledisn’tanimpenetrablealibi.Aprosecutormayseerightthroughthat.Addtothatwitnessstatements,andwehaveourselvesabitofaproblem.”
Isaynothing.
“Ifyouhelpme,IwilldoeverythingIcantohelpyou.”
“Whatdoyouwantfromme?”Iask.
Hesays,“Thetruth.”
ButI’vealreadytoldhimthetruth.“I’vebeennothingbuthonestwithyou,”Isay.
“You’recertainofthat?”heasks.
ItellhimIam.Hestaresawhile.
Andthen,intime,hetipshishatatme,andheleaves.
SADIE
AtnightIfindithardtosleep.Ispendmostoftherestlessnightawake,onalert,waitingforImogentocreepintothebedroom.Everysoundworriesme,thinkingit’stheopeningofabedroomdoor,footstepspaddingacrossthefloor.It’snot.It’sjustthehouseshowingitsage:waterthroughpipes,thefurnacequicklydying.Itrytotalkmyselfdown,remindingmyselfthatImogenonlycameintoourroomtheonetimebecauseofsomethingI’ddone.Itwasn’tunprovoked.Itellmyselfshewouldn’tcomeagain,butthatdoesn’tcomeclosetoallayingmyconcerns.
I’malsothinkingaboutthephotographOfficerBergshowedtome.Iwonderif,inthephotograph,WillwasconsolingMorganbecauseshewasalreadysad?OrifWillhadsaidordonesomethingtomakehersad?
Whatpowerwouldmyhusbandhaveoverthiswomantomakehersad?
Intime,morningcomes.Willgoestostartbreakfast.IwaitupstairsasImogen,justdownthehall,getsreadyforschool.Ihearhermovingaboutbeforesheclompsdownthestairs,herfeetheavyandembittered,spiteful.
Downstairs,IhearhertalkingtoWill.Imoveintotheupstairshalltolisten.But,tryasImight,Ican’tmakeouttheirwords.
Thefrontdooropensandthenslamsclosed.Imogenisgone.
WillisstandinginthekitchenwhenIcomedownstairs.Theboysareatthetable,eatingaFrenchtoastbreakfastthathe’smade.
“Doyouhaveasecond?”Willasks,andIfollowhimfromtheroomtowherewecanspeakinprivate.Hisfaceisinexpressive,hislonghairpulledbackintoatidybun.Heleansagainstawall;heholdsmygaze.“IspoketoImogenthismorning,”hetellsme,“aboutyourconcerns,”andit’shiswordchoicethatgetsonmynerves.Your,asinmine.Notourconcerns.Ihopehedidn’tapproachtheconversationwithImogenthatsameway.Becausethenshe’dhatememorethanshealreadydoes.
“Iaskedheraboutthephotographyousaidyousawonherphone.Iwantedtoseeit.”
Hechooseshiswordscarefully.That’snotlostonme.Yousaidyousaw.
“And?”Iask,sensinghishesitation.Hedropshisgaze.Imogenhasdonesomething,Ithink.“DidsheshowyouthepictureofAlice?”Iask,hopingthatWill,too,sawthesamethingIsaw.Thestepstoolstandingvertical,faroutofreachofAlice’sdanglingfeet.ThehalfofthenightIwasn’tkeptawakethinkingaboutWillandMorgan,Iwasthinkingaboutthis.Howawomancouldspringfivefeetfromastoolandlandwithherheadinanoose.
“Ilookedatherphone,”Willsays.“Ilookedthroughallthepictures.Threethousandofthem.Therewasnothingtherelikewhatyoudescribed,Sadie,”hesays.
Mybloodpressurespikes.Ifeelhotallofasuddenandangry.“Shedeletedit,”Isayrathermatter-of-factly.Becauseofcourseshedid.“Itwasthere,Will.Didyouchecktherecentlydeletedfolder?”Iaskhim,andhetellsmehedidcheckthedeletedfolder.Itwasn’tthereeither.
“Thenshepermanentlydeletedit,”Isay.“Didyouaskheraboutit,Will?”
“Idid,Sadie.Iaskedherwhathappenedtothephotograph.Shesaidthereneverwasaphotograph.Shecouldn’tbelieveyou’dmakesomethinglikethisup.Shewasupset.Shethinksyoudon’tlikeher.”
AtfirstIsaynothing.Icanonlystare,struckdumbbyhisstatement.IsearchWill’seyes.
Doeshe,too,thinkImadethisup?
TatecallstoWillfromthekitchen.He’shungryformoreFrenchtoast.Willgoestothekitchen.Ifollowalong.“She’slying,youknow?”Otto,atthetable,givesmealookasIsayit.
WilldishesanothersliceofFrenchtoastontoTate’splate.Hesaysnothing.Hislackofareplyhitsarawnerve.Becauseifhedoesn’tbelieveImogenlied,thenhe’ssuggestingIdid.
“Look,”hesays,“letmethinkonthisalittlewhile,figureoutwhattodo.I’llseeifthereisawaytorecoverdeletedphotos.”
WillhandsmemypillsandIswallowthemwithaswigofcoffee.He’sdressedinaHenleyandcargopantsbecauseheteachestoday,hisworkbagpackedandwaitingbythedoorforhimtogo.He’sreadinganewbookthesedays.It’sthere,juttingoutfromhisworkbagonthefloor.Ahardcoverwithadustjacket,thespineofwhichisorange.
IwonderifErin’sphotographisinsidethisbook,too.
Tatestaressidewaysatmefromthetable.ThoughI’vetriedtoapologize,he’sstillmadatmeforwhathappenedtheotherdaywiththedollandhisgame.IdecidetopickupanewLegokitforhimtoday.Legosmakeeverythingbetter.
OttoandIgo.He’squieterthanusualinthecar.Iseeinhiseyesthatsomethingiswrong.Heknowsmorethanheletson,aboutthetensioninWill’sandmymarriage,aboutImogen.Ofcoursehedoes.He’safourteen-year-oldboy.Heisn’tstupid.“Iseverythingokay?”Iask.“Anythingyouwanttotalkabout?”
Hisreplyisshort.“Nope,”hesays,lookingaway.
Idrivehimtothedockanddrophimoff,searchingthewaterfrontforImogen.Sheisn’there.Theferrycomesandtheferrygoes.WhenOttoisgone,Istepfrommycarandgototheticketwindow.Ipurchaseaticketforthenextferrytothemainland.Igetbackinmycarandwait.Whentheferryarrives,notthirtyminuteslater,IdriveontothevehicledeckandputthecarinPark.Iturnitoffandleavemycarthere,walkingupthestepstotheupperdeckoftheferry.Isitonabenchandstareattheoceanaswego.It’sonlyeighto’clock.Ihavenearlythewholedayinfrontofme.Will,offtowork,won’tknowhowI’vespentmytime.
Astheferrymakesitswayacrossthebay,asenseofreliefwashesoverme.OurislandshrinksinsizeandbecomesjustoneofmanyislandsoffthecoastofMaine.Asthemainlanddrawsnear,acityswellsbeforeme,withbuildingsandpeopleandnoise.Fornow,IpushmythoughtsofImogenaside.
Thepolicearelookingforascapegoatonly.OfficerBergistryingtopinthismurderonme.Inordertoclearmyownname,IneedtofindoutwhokilledMorgan.
Iusemycommutetimewisely,searchingmyphoneforinformationonJeffreyBaines’sex,Courtney,wholivessomewhereontheothersideoftheAtlantic.Idon’tknowthisforafact,butit’seasyenoughtoassume.Shedoesn’tliveontheislandwithus.AndIwatchedtheotherday,afterthememorialservice,assheandherredJeepboardedtheferryanddisappearedouttosea.
Itype“CourtneyBaines”intothewebbrowser.Findingherisalmosttooeasybecause,Icometofindout,she’sthesuperintendentofthelocalschooldistrict.Hernamepopsupnearlyeverywhere.It’sallveryprofessional,nothingpersonal.SuperintendentBainesapprovingsalaryincreasesforteachersandstaff;SuperintendentBainesexpressingconcernoverastringofrecentschoolviolence.
Ifindanaddressoftheadministrativebuildingandtypeitintomymapapp.It’saneight-minutedrivefromtheferryterminal.I’llarriveby8:36a.m.
Theferrysteersintotheterminalanddocks.Ijogdownthesteps,fromtheupperdeckandtomycar.Istartthecarand,whengiventhego-ahead,Ipullfromtheferry.
Iheadoutontothestreetandfollowmydirectionstowardtheschooldistrict’sadministrativebuilding.ThecityisnothingcomparedtoChicago.Thepopulationislessthanahundredthousand;notonebuildingsurpassesfifteenstoriestall.Butit’sacitynonetheless.
Locatedintheheartofdowntown,theadministrativebuildingshowsitsage.Idriveintothelot,searchforaplacetopark.Idon’tknowwhatI’mdoinghere.Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtosaytoSuperintendentBaineswhenwemeet.
ImakeaplanquicklyasIweavethroughtheparkinglot.I’maconcernedparent.Mychildisbeingbullied.It’snotsohardtobelieve.
Istepthroughthefirstrowofcars.AsIdo,IspotCourtneyBaines’sJeep,thesameredJeepIwatchedpullfromtheMethodistchurch.Igotoit,lookaroundtobesurethatI’malonebeforereachingahanduptotugonthecar’shandle.It’slocked,ofcourse.Noonewithanycommonsensewouldleavetheircarunlocked.Icupmyhandsaroundmyeyesandpeerinside,seeingnothingunusual
Imakemywayintotheadministrativebuilding.Onceinside,asecretarygreetsme.
“Goodmorning,”shesays,and,“Whatcanwedoforyou?”speakinginthefirst-personplural,thoughthereisnowehere.She’stheonlyoneintheroom.
WhenItellherI’dliketospeaktothesuperintendent,sheasks,“Doyouhaveanappointment,ma’am?”
Idon’t,ofcourse,andsoIsay,“Thiswillonlytakeasecond.”
Shelooksatme,asks,“Soyoudon’thaveanappointment,then?”
Itellherno.
“I’msosorry,butthesuperintendent’sscheduleiscompletelybookedtoday.Ifyou’dliketomakeanappointmentfortomorrow,wecangetyouin.”Sheglancesatthecomputerscreen,tellsmewhenthesuperintendentwillbefree.
ButIdon’twanttoseethesuperintendenttomorrow.I’mherenow.Iwanttospeakwithhertoday.
“Ican’tdoittomorrow,”Itellthissecretary,makingupsomesobstoryaboutmysickmotherandhowshe’llbegoinginforchemotherapytomorrow.“IfIcouldjustspeakwithherforthreeminutes,tops,”Isay,notsurewhatIthinkI’llaccomplishinthreeminutes—orwhatIthinkI’llaccomplishatall.Ijustwanttospeakwiththewoman.Togetasenseofthekindofpersonsheis.Isshethekindofwomanwhocouldkillanother?That’swhatIwanttoknow.Wouldthreeminutestellmethis?
Itdoesn’tmatter.Sheshakesherheadempathetically,saysagainhowsorrysheisbutthesuperintendent’sscheduleiscompletelybookedfortheday.
“Icantakeyourphonenumber,”shesuggests.Shereachesforpaperandapentojotmyinformationdown.ButbeforeIcangiveittoher,awoman’svoice—onethat’ssurlyandastute—comesthroughanintercom,beckoningthesecretary.
Iknowthisvoice.Thesedays,IhearitnearlyeverytimeIclosemyeyes.
I’mnotsorryforwhatIdid.
Thesecretarypushesherchairbackandstands.Beforeshegoes,shetellsmeshe’llberightback.SheleavesandI’malone.
Myfirstthoughtistogo.Tojustleave.There’snochanceI’mgettingpastthesecretarywithoutresortingtodesperatemeasures.Timesaren’tdesperate,notyet.Imakemywaytowardthedoor.Onthewallbehindmeisacoathanger,acast-ironframewithmatchingpegs.Ablack-and-whitehoundstoothcoathangsfromit.
Irecognizethecoat.ItbelongstoCourtneyBaines.It’sthesamecoatsheworethedaysheslippedoutofMorgan’smemorialserviceandhurriedtohercar.
Itakeadeepbreath.Ilistenforthesoundsofvoices,offootsteps.It’squiet,andsoIgotothecoat.Withoutthinking,Irunmyfingersalongthewool.Isinkmyhandsintothepockets.Immediatelymyhandclaspsdownonsomething:CourtneyBaines’skeys.
Istareatthekeysinmyhand.Fivesilverkeysonaleatherkeychain.
Adooropensbehindme.It’simmediateandswift.Therewasneverthewarningoffootsteps.
Ispinaroundwiththekeysstillinmyhand.Idon’thavetimetoputthemback.
“I’msorrytokeepyouwaiting,”thesecretarysaysasshedropsbackdownintoherseat.There’sastackofpapersinherhandsnow,andI’mgratefulforthis,becauseit’sthepapersshe’slookingat,notme.
Istepquicklyawayfromthecoatrack.Ifoldthekeysintomyfist.
“Wherewerewe?”sheasks,andIremindher.Ileaveheranameandanumberandaskthatthesuperintendentcallmewhenshehastime.Neitherthenamenorthenumberbelongstome.
“Thanksforallyourhelp,”Isay,turningtoleave.
Itisn’twithforethoughtthatIletmyselfintotheJeep.Thethoughtdidn’tcrossmyminduntilIwasstandingbesidethecarwiththekeysinmyhand.Butitwouldbeludicrousnottoactonthis.Becausewhatthisisisdestiny.Aseriesofeventsoutsideofmycontrol.
Iunlockthedriver’sdoor;Igetintothecar.
Isearchquickly,lookingfornothinginparticular,butratherinsightintothewoman’slife.Shelistenstocountrymusic,stockpilesMcDonald’snapkins,readsGoodHousekeepingmagazineThelatestcopyisthereonthepassenger’sseat,mixedupinapileofmail.
Tomygreatdisappointment,there’snoevidenceofamurdererhere.
Iputthekeysintotheignition.Istartthecar.
There’sanavigationpanelonthedashboard.Ipressthemenubuttonand,whenitpromptsmeto,IdirectthesystemtoHome.
Notmyhome,butCourtneyBaines’shome.
AndjustlikethatIhaveanaddressonBrackettStreet,lessthanthreemilesaway.
Ihavenochoicebuttogo.
MOUSE
WhatMousecametolearnaboutFakeMomwasthatthereweretwosidestoher,likeacoin.
WhenMouse’sfatherwasaround,FakeMomtookanhourinthemorningtogetdressed,tocurlherhair.Sheworeaprettyhot-pinklipstickandperfume.ShemadebreakfastforMouseandherfatherbeforehewenttowork.FakeMomdidn’tmakecereallikeMousewasusedtoeating,butsomethingelselikepancakes,crepes,eggsBenedict.MousehadneverhadcrepesoreggsBenedictbefore.Theonlybreakfastherfatherevermadeherwascereal.
WhenMouse’sfatherwasaround,FakeMomspokewithavoicethatwassoft,sweetandwarm.ShecalledMousethingslikeSweetieandDarlingandDoll
Youwantpowderedsugaronyourcrepes,Doll?FakeMomwouldask,holdingtheshakerofitinherhand,readytodousethecrepeswithaheapofdeliciouspowderedsugar,thekindthatmeltedinMouse’smouth.Mousewouldshakeherhead,thoughshereallydidwantthatpowderedsugar.Butevenatsixyearsold,Mouseknewthatnicethingscamewithapricesometimes,oneshedidn’twanttopay.Shestartedmissingherfather’scoldcereal,becausethatnevercamewithaprice,onlymilkandaspoon.
WhenMouse’sfatherwasaround,FakeMomwaskind.ButMouse’sfatherwasn’talwaysaround.Hehadthekindofjobwherehetraveledalot.Whenheleftononeofhisbusinesstrips,hewasgonefordays.
UntilthatfirsttimeheleftherwithFakeMom,Mousehadneverbeenalonewithherforlong.Mousedidn’twanttobeleftalonewithher.Butshedidn’ttellherfatherthisbecausesheknewhowmuchherfatherlovedFakeMom.Shedidn’twanttohurthisfeelings.
Insteadsheheldontohisarmashesaidhisgoodbyes.Shethoughtthatifsheheldonrealtight,hewouldn’tgo.Orifhedid,thathe’dbringherwithhim.Shewassmall.Shecouldfitinhissuitcase.Shewouldn’tmakeapeep.
Buthedidn’tdoeither.
I’llbebackinafewdays,herfatherpromisedher.Hedidn’ttellherexactlyhowmanywasafew.Hepulledhisarmgentlyaway,kissedMouseontheforeheadbeforeheleft.
YouandIaregoingtogetalongjustfine,FakeMomsaid,strokingMouse’sbrownhairwithherhand.Mousestoodinthedoorway,tryingnottocryasFakeMom’stackyhandtuggedonherhairsfromherhead.Shedidn’tthinkFakeMommeanttopullherhair,butmaybeshedid.Andeitherway,itmadeMousewince.Shetookastepforward,tryingtostopherfatherbeforehecouldleave.
FakeMom’shandwenttoMouse’sshoulderandshesqueezedrealtight,notlettinggo.
That,Mouseknew,shemeanttodo.
MousecarefullyraisedhereyestoFakeMom,notsurewhatshewouldfindwhenshedid.Slantedeyes,anangrystare.Thatwaswhatshethoughtshe’dsee.Itwasneither,butratherafrighteningsmile,thekindthatmadeherinsideshurt.Ifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyou,youwillstopwhereyouareandsaygoodbyetoyourfather,FakeMomordered.Mousecomplied.
Theywatchedasherfather’scarpulledoutofthedrive.Theystoodinthedoorwayasthecarroundedabenddownthestreet.ItdisappearedsomewhereMousecouldn’tsee.OnlythendidFakeMom’sgriponMouse’sshoulderlessenslightly.
Assoonashewasgonefromsight,FakeMomturnedmean.
Intheblinkofaneye,thatsoft,sweet,warmvoicewentcold.
FakeMomturnedawayfromthedoor.Sheslammeditclosedwiththebottomofherfoot.SheholleredatMousetostoplookingforherfather,thatherfatherwasgone.
Heisn’tcomingback,notanytimesoon.Youbetterjustdealwithit,shesaid,beforetellinghertogetawayfromthedoor.
FakeMom’seyesmovedaroundtheroom,lookingforsometransgressionshecouldgetangryabout.Anytransgression.ShefounditinMr.Bear,Mouse’sbelovedbrownbearwhosatperchedinthecornerofthesofa,positionedwiththeremotecontrolunderhistinyfurryhand.Mr.BearwaswatchingTV,justthesameashedideveryday,allthesameshowsthatMouselikedtowatch.
ButFakeMomdidn’twantthebeartowatchTV.Shedidn’twantthebearanywhereshecouldseehim.Shesnatcheditfromthecornerofthesofabyasinglearm,tellingMousethatsheneededtoputherstupidtoysawaybeforeshethrewtheminthetrash.Sheshookthelivingdaylightsoutofthebearbeforehurlinghimtotheground.
Mouselookedatherbelovedbearlyingontheground.HelookedtoMouselikehewasasleep,ormaybehewasdeadonaccountofFakeMomshakinghimsomuch.EvenMouseknewyouweren’tsupposedtodothattoalivingthing.
Mouseknewsheshouldshuthermouth.Sheknewsheshoulddoastold.Butshecouldn’tstopherself.Withoutmeaningforthemto,wordscameout.Mr.Bearisn’tstupid,sheyelledasshereachedforherbear,clutchinghimtoherchest,consolinghim.Mouseranherownhandoverthestuffedanimal’sdownyfurandcooedintohisear,Shhh.It’sokay,Mr.Bear.
Don’tyoutalkbacktome,FakeMomsaid.Yourfatherisn’therenow,andsoyoulistentome.I’mincharge.YoupickupafteryourselfwhenI’mhere,youlittlerodent,shesaid.Doyouhearme,Mouse?sheaskedrightbeforeshestartedtolaugh.
Mouse,shecalledhermockinglythistime.Shesaidhowmuchshehatedmice,howthey’repests.ShetoldMousethattheycarryfecesaroundontheirfeet,thattheyspreadgerms,thattheymakepeoplesick.Sheasked,How’dyougetanicknamelikethat,youdirtylittlerodent?
ButMousedidn’tknow,andsoMousedidn’tsay.ThatmadeFakeMomangry.
Doyouhearme?sheasked,gettingdownintoMouse’sface.Mousewasn’tatallgirl.Shewassmall,onlyaboutthreeandahalffeettall.ShebarelyreachedFakeMom’swaist,rightwhereshetuckedthoseprettyshirtsintothewaistbandofherjeans.YouanswermewhenIaskyouaquestion,FakeMomsaid,pointingafingeratMouse’snose,soclosethatsheswattedher.Whethershemeanttohitherornot,Mousedidn’tknow,ormaybeitwasoneofthosethingsthathappensaccidentallyonpurpose.Butitdidn’tmatterbecauseeitherwayithurt.Ithurthernoseandithurtherfeelings.
Idon’tknowwhyDaddycallsmethat,shesaidhonestly.Hejustdoes.
Areyoubeingsassywithme,youlittlerodent?Don’tyoueverbesassywithme,FakeMomsaid,grabbingMousebythewrist.Sheshookherlikeshehadthebear,untilMouse’sheadandwristhurt.Mousetriedtotugherarmaway,butitonlymadeFakeMomholdtighter,longfingernailsdiggingintotheskin.
Whenshefinallydidletgo,MousesawtheredimpressionofFakeMom’shandthereonhers.Therewerecrescent-shapedindentationsinherskinfromFakeMom’sfingernails.
Hereyeswelledwithtearsbecauseithurt,bothherheadandherhand,butevenmore,herheart.ItmadehersadwhenFakeMomshookherlikethat,andalsoscared.NoonehadevertalkedtoortouchedMouselikethat,andMousedidn’tlikeit.Itmadeadropofpeesneakoutfromherinsidesandslidedownalegwhereitgotabsorbedinthefabricofherpants.
FakeMomlaughedwhenshesawMouse’slittlequiveringlip,thetearspoolinginhereyes.Sheasked,Whatareyougoingtodo?Crylikealittlebaby?Well,isn’tthatjustdandy,shesaid.Asassylittlecrybaby.How’sthatforanoxymoron,shelaughed,andthoughMouseknewmanythings,shedidn’tknowthatwordoxymoron,butsheknewwhatmoronmeantbecausesheheardkidscalloneanotherthatatschool.SothatwaswhatMousethought,thatFakeMomhadcalledheramoron,whichwouldn’thaveevenbeenthemeanestthingshedidthatday.
FakeMomtoldMousetogosomewherewhereshecouldn’tseeher,becauseshewassickoflookingathersassy,crybabyface.
Anddon’tyoucomebackuntilItellyouyoucancomeback,shesaid.
Mousecarriedherbearsadlyuptoherbedroomandgentlyclosedthedoor.ShelaidMr.Bearonthebedandhummedalullabyintohisear.Thenshelaydownbesidehimandcried.
Mousekneweventhenthatshewouldn’ttellherfatherwhatFakeMomhadsaidanddone.Shewouldn’teventellherrealmom.Itwasn’tlikehertobeatattletale,butmoreso,sheknewhowmuchherfatherlovedFakeMom.Shecouldseeitinhiseyeseverytimehelookedather.Mousedidn’twanthisfeelingstobehurt.BecausehewouldbesadifheknewwhatFakeMomhaddone,evensadderthanMousefelt.Mousewasanempatheticlittlegirl.Shedidn’teverwanttomakeanyonesad.Especiallyherfather.
SADIE
Icommittheaddresstomemory.IgetinmyowncaranddrivetoCourtney’shome.Iparallelparkonthestreet,slidingeasilybetweentwocars.Istepfrommycar.IbringCourtney’skeyswithme.
OrdinarilyIwouldn’tdosomethinglikethis.Butmybackistoawall.
Iknockbeforeattemptingtoletmyselfinside.Noonecomestothedoor.
Ifingerthekeysinmyhands.Itcouldbeanyoneofthem.Itrythefirstkey.Itdoesn’tfit.
Iglanceovermyshoulder,seeingawomanandherdogneartheendoftheparkwhereitmeetswiththestreet.Thewomanisbentatthewaist,cleaningthedog’smessfromthesnowwithaplasticbag;shedoesn’tseeme.
Ifiddlewiththesecondkey.Thisonefits.Theknobturnsandthedooropens,andIfindmyselfstandinginthedoorwayofCourtneyBaines’shome.Istepinside;Iclosethedoor.Theinteriorofthehouseischarming.Itburstswithcharacter:archeddoorways,wallnichesandwoodenbuilt-ins.Butit’salsoneglectedandunloved.Thereisn’tmuchinthewayofthings.Thehouseisunkempt.Stacksofmailarestrewnacrossthesofa,twoemptycoffeecupsonthewoodenfloor.Abasketofunfoldedlaundrywaitsatthebaseofthestairs.Kids’toyswitherinthecorneroftheroom;theyhaven’tbeenplayedwithinawhile.
Buttherearephotographs.Theyhangfromthewallslightlyaskew,alayerofdustcoatingthetopledgeofthem.
Igotothepictures,nearlyrunmyhandsthroughthedust.Butthen,inthenickoftime,Ithinkoffingerprints,ofevidence,andpullquicklyback.Isearchmycoatpocketsforapairofwinterglovesandslipthemon.
ThephotographsareofJeffrey,Courtneyandtheirlittlegirl.Thisstrikesmeasodd.IfWillandIhadgonethroughwithadivorceintheaftermathofhisaffair,Iwouldhaveridmyhomeofphotographsofhim,soIwouldn’tberemindedofhimeveryday.
NotonlydoesCourtneykeepfamilyphotographsinherhome,butthereareweddingphotographs,too.RomanticscenesofJeffreyandherkissing.Iwonderwhatthismeans.Ifshestillhasfeelingsforhim.Issheindenialabouthisaffair,thedivorce,hisremarriage?Doesshethinkthere’sachancetheymightgetbacktogetheragain,orissheonlypiningforthelovetheyoncehad?
Iwanderthehalls,lookinginbedrooms,inbathrooms,inthekitchen.Thehomeisthreenarrowfloorstall,eachroomasSpartanasthenext.Inthechild’sbedroom,thebediscoveredwithwoodlandcreatures,deerandsquirrelsandsuch.There’sarugonthefloor.
Anotherroomisanofficewithadeskinside.Igotothedesk,pullthedrawersoutatrandom.I’mnotlookingforanythinginparticular.ButtherearethingsIsee,likefelt-tippensandreamsofpaperandaboxofstationery.
Ireturndownstairs.Iopenandclosetherefrigeratordoor.Ipeelbackacurtainandlookoutsidetobesurenooneiscoming.
HowlongdoIhaveuntilCourtneyrealizesthatherkeysaremissing?
Isitlightlyonthesofa,payingattentionnottodisturbthecarefulorderofthings.Ithumbthroughthemail,keepingitinthesameorderthatitis,incasethere’ssomemethodtothemadnessthatIcan’tsee.It’sbillsandjunkmailmostly.Butthereareotherthings,too,likelegalpetitions.StateofMaineistypedacrosstheenvelopes,andthat’swhatmakesmepeeltheflapsback,slidethedocumentsoutwithmyglovedhands.
Iwasneververygoodwithlegalese,butwordslikechildendangermentandimmediatephysicalcustodyleapoutatme.IttakesbutaminutetorealizeJeffreyandMorganBaineswereattemptingtogainfullcustodyofhisandCourtney’schild.
ThethoughtofsomeonetakingOttoorTatefrommemakesmeinstantlyupset.Ifsomeonetriedtotakemychildrenfromme,Idon’tknowwhatI’ddo.
ButifIknowonething,it’sthatgettingbetweenawomanandherchildwillneverendwell.
Islidethedocumentsbackintotheirenvelopes,butnotbeforefirstsnappingaphotoofthemonmyphone.Iputthemailbackhowitwas.Irisefromthesofaandslipbackoutthefrontdoor,donewithmysearchfornow.I’mnotsureifwhatIfoundisenoughtosuspectCourtneyofmurder.Butitisenoughtoraisequestions.
Idropthekeysintoazippedcompartmentinmybag.I’lldisposeofthemlater
Peoplelosetheirkeysallthetime,don’tthey?It’snotsuchanunusualthing.
I’mhalfwaytomycarparkedontheothersideofthestreetwhenmycellphonerings.Ipullitfrommybagandanswerthecall.“Mrs.Foust?”thecallerasks.NoteveryoneknowsthatI’madoctor.
“Yes,”Isay.“Thisisshe.”
Thewomanontheotherendofthelineinformsmethatshe’scallingfromthehighschool.MymindgoesinstinctivelytoOtto.Ithinkofourshortexchangeaswedrovetothedockthismorning.Somethingwasbotheringhimbuthewouldn’tsaywhat.Washetryingtotellmesomething?
“Itriedcallingyourhusbandfirst,”thewomantellsme,“butIgothisvoicemail.”Ilookatmywatch.Willisinthemiddleofalecture.“IwantedtocheckonImogen.Herteachersmarkedherabsenttoday.Didsomeoneforgettocallherin?”thiswomanasks,and—feelingrelievedthecallisn’taboutOtto—Isighandtellherno,thatImogenmustbeplayinghooky.Iwon’tbothermyselfwithmakingupliesforImogen’sabsence.
Hertoneisn’tkind.SheexplainstomethatImogenisrequiredtobeinschoolandthatsheisquicklyclosinginonthenumberofunexcusedabsencesallowedinaschoolyear.
“It’syourresponsibility,Mrs.Foust,tomakesureImogenisinschool,”shesays.AmeetingwillbescheduledwithWillandme,Imogen,teachersandadministrators.Aninterventionofsorts.Ifthatfails,theschoolwillbeforcedtofollowlegalprotocol.
Iendthecallandclimbintomycar.BeforeIpullout,IsendImogenatext.Whereareyou?Iask.Idon’texpectareply.Andyetonecomes.Findme,itreads.
Imogenisplayinggameswithme.
Aseriesofphotoscomesnext.Headstones,ableaklandscape,abottleofprescriptionpills.They’reAlice’soldpills,usedtomanagefibromyalgiapain.Anantidepressantthatdoublesasanerveblocker.Hernameisonthelabel.
IhavetogettoImogenbeforeshedoessomethingstupidwiththem,beforeshemakesacarelessdecisionshecan’ttakeback.Ispeedaway,forcingthelegaldocumentsIfoundinCourtney’shomeoutofmymindfornow.FindingMorgan’skillerwillhavetowait.
MOUSE
FakeMomdidn’tgiveMouseanydinnerthatnight,butMouseheardherdowninthekitchen,makingsomethingforherself.Shesmelledthescentofitcominguptothesecondfloorthroughthefloorvents,slippingunderthecrackofMouse’sbedroomdoor.Mousedidn’tknowwhatitwas,butthesmellofitgothertummyrumblinginagoodway.Shewantedtoeat.Butshecouldn’tbecauseFakeMomneverofferedtoshare.
Bybedtime,Mousewashungry.ButsheknewbetterthantoaskaboutdinnerbecauseFakeMomtoldherexplicitlythatshedidnotwanttoseeheruntilshesaiditwasokay.AndFakeMomneversaiditwasokay.
Asthesunsetandtheskywentdark,Mousetriedtoignorethehungerpangs.SheheardFakeMommovingaboutdownstairsforalongtimeaftershehadfinishedeating,doingthedishes,watchingTV.
Butthenthehousegotquiet.
Adoorclosed,andFakeMom,Mousethought,hadgonetobed.
Mousepulledherowndooropenaninch.Shestoodjustbehindthedoor,holdingherbreath,makingsurethatthehousestayedquiet.ThatFakeMomhadn’tonlygoneinthebedroomtocomerightbackoutagain.ThatFakeMomwasn’ttryingtotrickherintocomingdown.
Mouseknewsheshouldgotosleep.Shetriedgoingtosleep.Shewantedtogotosleep.
Butshewashungry.
And,evenworsethanthat,shehadtousethebathroom,whichwasdownstairs.Mousehadtogoreallybadly.She’dbeenholdingitforalongtime,anddidn’tthinkshecouldholditmuchlonger.Shecertainlycouldn’tholditthewholenight.Butshealsodidn’twanttohaveanaccidentinherbedroombecauseshewassixyearsold,toooldtohaveaccidentsinherbedroom.
ButMousewasn’tallowedtoleaveherbedroomuntilFakeMomsaidshecould.Soshepressedherlegstogetherrealtightandwilledthepeetostayinsideofher.Sheusedherhand,too,squeezingitintohercrotchlikeacork,thinkingthatmightholdthepeein.
Butintimeherstomachhurttoomuch,becauseshewasbothhungryandhadtopee.
Mousecoaxedherselfintogoingdownstairs.Itwasn’teasytodo.Mousewasn’tthekindofgirlwholikedbreakingrules.Mousewasthekindofgirlwholikedtoobeytherules,tonevergetintrouble.
But,sheremembered,FakeMomdidn’ttellhershehadtogotoherbedroom.Mousehaddecidedtodothat.WhatFakeMomhadsaidwasGosomewhereIcan’tseeyou.IfFakeMomwasasleep,Mousedecided,thenshewouldn’tseeMouseonthefirstfloor,notunlessshecouldseewithhereyesclosed.Inwhichcase,Mousewasn’tbreakinganyrules.
Mouseopenedherbedroomdooralltheway.ItgroanedasshedidandMousefeltherinsidesfreeze,wonderingifthatwouldbeenoughtorouseFakeMomfromsleep.Shecountedtofiftyinherhead,andthen,whenthehousestayedquiet,nosignofFakeMomwakingup,shewent.
Mousecreptdownthesteps.Acrossthelivingroom.Shetiptoedtowardthekitchen.JustshyofthekitchenwasahallwaythatveeredoffandtowardtheroomFakeMomwasin.Mousepeekedaroundthecorner,tryingtogetaglimpseofthedoor,gratefultofinditallthewayclosed.
Mousehadtopeemorethanshewashungry.Shewenttowardthebathroomfirst.ButthebathroomwasjustafewfeetawayfromherfatherandFakeMom’sroom,andthatmadeMousescaredasheck.Sheskatedhersockstothatbathroomdoor,tryinghardnottoliftherfeetfromthefloor.
Thehousewasdarkish.Notentirelydark,butMousehadtofeelthewallswithherfingertipssoasnottorunintoanything.Mousewasn’tafraidofthedark.Shewasthekindofkidwhowasn’tafraidofmuchofanythingbecauseshehadalwaysfeltsafeinherhome.OratleastshehadbeforeFakeMomarrived.Nowshenolongerfeltsafe,thoughthedarknesswastheleastofherconcerns.
Mousemadeittothebathroom.
Inside,shegentlyclosedthedoor.Sheleftthelightswitchoff,sothatitwaspitchblackinthebathroom.Therewasnowindowthere,noscantamountofmoonlightsneakinginthroughglass,nonight-light.
Mousefeltherwaytothetoilet.BythegraceofGod,thelidwasalreadyup.Shedidn’thavetoriskmakingnoisebyliftingit.
Mousepulledherpantsdowntoherknees.Shesetherselfsoslowlyonthetoiletseatthatitmadeherthighsburn.Mousetriedtocontrolherurine,toletitseepoutslowlyandinaudibly.Butshe’dbeenholdingitforsolong.Shecouldn’tcontrolthewayitcameout.Andsoinstead,oncethefloodgateswereopen,theurinecamerushingoutofherinawaythatwasturbulentandloud.Mousewassureeveryoneonthewholeblockmight’veheardit,butespeciallyFakeMom,whowasrightacrossthehallinherfather’sbed.
Mouse’sheartstartedtorace.Herhandsgotallsweaty.Herkneestrembledsothat,whenshewasdoneonthetoiletandpullingherpantsbackuptoherbonyhips,itmadeithardtostand.Herownlegswobbledlikethedesklegswhenshetriedtoclimboverittoavoidthehotlavaspewingintoherbedroom.Theyshookbeneathher,threateningtobreak.
Withherbladderemptiedandherpantspulledup,Mousestoodthereinthebathroomforalongwhilewiththelightsturnedoff.Shedidn’tbotherwashingherhands.Butshewantedtomakesurethesoundofherpeehadn’twokenFakeMombeforesheleftthebathroom.BecauseifFakeMomwasinthehall,thenshewouldseeMouse.
Mousecountedtothreehundredinherhead.Thenshecountedanotherthreehundred.
Onlythendidsheleave.ButMousedidn’tflushthetoiletforfearofthenoiseitwouldmake.Shelefteverythinginsidethetoiletbowlwhereitwas,urine,toiletpaperandall.
Sheopenedthebathroomdoor.Sheskatedbackoutintothehallway,gratefultofindthebedroomdoorontheothersideofthehallstillclosedtight.
Inthekitchen,MousehelpedherselftoafewSalernoButterCookiesfromthecabinet,andaglassofmilkfromthefridge.Sherinsedherglassandsetitinthedishracktodry.Shegatheredhercookiecrumbsinherhandandthrewtheminthetrash.BecauseFakeMomhadalsosaid,YoupickupafteryourselfwhenI’mhere,youlittlerodent,andMousewantedtodoasshewastold.Shediditallinsilence.
Mouseclimbedthesteps.
Butonthewayup,hernosebegantotickle.
PoorMousehadtriedsohardtobequiet,tonotmakeanynoise.Butasneezeisareflex,oneofthosethingsthathappensallonitsown.Likebreathingandrainbowsandfullmoons.Onceitbegan,therewasnostoppingit,thoughMousetried.Oh,howMousetried.There,onthestairs,shecuppedherhandsaroundhernose.Shepinchedthebridgeofhernose.ShepushedhertongueallthewayuptotheroofofhermouthandheldherbreathandbeggedGodtomakeitstop.Anythingshecouldthinkoftostopthatsneezefromcoming.
Butstillthesneezecame.
SADIE
Thespaceistypicalforacemetery.Idrivealongthenarrowgraveledpathandparkmycaratthechapel.Iopenthecardoorasagustofwindrushesintogreetme.Iclimboutandwalkacrossthegradedland,slidingbetweenheadstonesandfull-growntrees.
TheplotwhereAliceisburiedhasyettobecoveredwithgrass.It’safreshgrave,filledinwithdirtandscatteredwithsnow.Thereisnoheadstone,notuntilthelandsettlesanditcanbeinstalled.Fornow,Aliceisidentifiableonlybyasectionandlotnumber.
Imogensitsonherkneesonthesnowyearth.Shehearsmyfootstepsapproachingandturns.Whenshelooksatme,Icanseethatshe’sbeencrying.Theblackeyelinershesopainstakinglyappliesissmearedacrosshercheeks.Hereyesarered,swollen.Herlowerliptrembles.Shebitesonittomakeitstop.Shedoesn’twantmetoseehervulnerableside.
Shelookssuddenlyyoungerthanhersixteenyears.Butalsodamagedandangry.
“Tookyoufuckinglongenough,”shesays.Truthbetold,therewasamomentonthewayherethatIthoughtaboutnotcomingatall.IputinacalltoWilltolethimknowaboutthephotosImogensenttome,butagainthecallwentunanswered.IwasheadedbacktotheferrywhenmyconsciencegotthebetterofmeandIknewIhadtocome.Thebottleofprescriptionpillsremainsclosed,lyingbesideImogenontheground.
“Whatareyoudoingwiththose,Imogen?”Iask,andsheshrugsnonchalantly.
“Figuredtheyhadtobegoodforsomething,”shesays.“Theydidn’tdoshitforMom.Butmaybetheycouldhelpme.”
“Howmanydidyoutake?”Iask.
“Noneyet,”shesays,butI’mnotsureIbelieveit.Imovecautiouslytowardher,leandownandsnatchthepillsfromtheground.Iopenthecapandlookinside.Therearepillsstillthere.Buthowmanythereweretobeginwith,Idon’tknow.
It’sthirtydegreesoutatbest.Thewindblowsthroughme.Iraisemyhoodupovermyhead,plungemyhandsintomypockets.
“You’llcatchyourdeathouthere,Imogen,”Isay,apoorwordchoicegiventhecircumstance.
Imogendoesn’twearacoat.Shedoesn’twearahatorgloves.Hernoseisabrilliantred.Snotdripsfromthetipofit,runningdowntoherupperlip,where,asIwatch,shelicksitawaywithatongue,remindingmethatsheisachild.Hercheeksarefrostypatchesofpink.
“Icouldn’tbesolucky,”shesays.
“Youdon’tmeanthat,”Isay,butshedoes.Shebelievesshewouldbebetteroffdead.
“Theschoolcalled,”Itellher.“Theysaidyou’retruantagain.”
Sherollshereyes.“Noshit.”
“Whatareyoudoinghere,Imogen?”Iask,thoughtheanswerismostlyclear.“You’resupposedtobeatschool.”
Sheshrugs,says,“Ididn’tfeellikegoing.Besides.You’renotmymom.Youcan’ttellmewhattodo.”Shewipesathereyeswithashirtsleeve.Herjeansareblackandtorn,hershirtared-and-blackbutton-up,unbuttoned,overablackT-shirt.
Shesaystome,“YoutoldWillaboutthepicture.Youshouldn’thavetoldhim.”Shepressesupfromthegroundandrisestoherfeet.ItstrikesmeagainjusthowtallImogenis,tallenoughtolookdownonme.
“Whynot?”Iask,andshetellsme,“He’snotmyfuckingfather.Besides,thatwasforyoureyesonly.”
“Ididn’tknowitwasasecret,”Isay.Itakeastepbackward,regainingmypersonalspace.“Youdidn’taskmenottotellhim.Ifyouhad,Iwouldn’thavementionedit,”Ilie.Sherollshereyes.SheknowsI’mlying.
There’samomentofsilence.Imogenisquiet,brooding.Iwonderwhatexactlyshe’sbroughtmeheretodo.Ikeepmydefensesup.Idon’ttrusther.
“Didyoueverknowyourfather?”Iask.Itakeanotherstepback,bumpingintothetrunkofatree.Sheglaresatme.“Iwasjustthinkinghowtallyouare.Yourmotherwasn’tverytall,wasshe?Willisn’tparticularlytall.Yourheightmustcomefromyourfather’sside.”
I’mbabblingnow.Icanhearitaswellasshe.
Sheclaimsnottoknowhim.Andyetsheadmitstoknowinghisname,thenameofhiswife,thathehasthreekids.She’sseenhishouse.Shedescribesitforme.Sheknowsthathehasanoptometrypractice.Thathewearsglasses.Thathisoldest,Elizabeth,who’sfifteen,isjustsevenmonthsyoungerthansheis.Imogenissmartenoughtoknowwhatthismeans.
“Hetoldmymomhewasn’treadytobeadad.”Butclearlyhewas.Hejustdidn’twanttobeImogen’sdad.
Iseeitinherexpression:thedismissalstillstings.
“Thingis,”shesays,“ifmymomwasn’tsofuckinglonelyallthetime,shemight’vewantedtolive.Ifhe’dhavelovedherback,maybeshewouldhavestuckaroundawhilelonger.Shewassotiredofputtingonahappyfaceallthefuckingtime.Miserableontheinside,buthappyout.Nobodybelievedshewasinpain.Evenherdoctors.Theydidn’tbelieveher.Therewasnowayforhertoprovethatshehurt.Nothingtomakeherfeelbetter.Allthosefuckingnaysayers.They’retheoneswhokilledher.”
“Fibromyalgia,”Itellher.“It’saterriblyfrustratingthing.IwishIwouldhaveknownyourmother.Imight’vebeenabletohelp.”
“Bullshit,”shesays.“Nobodycouldhelp.”
“Iwouldhavetried.IwouldhavedoneanythingIcouldtohelp.”
Herlaughisacackle.“You’renotassmartasyouwanteveryonetothink.Youandmehavealittlesomethingincommon,”shesays,changingtack.
“Ohyeah?”Iask,disbelieving.“What’sthat?”
Ican’tthinkofonethingImogenandIwouldeverhaveincommon.
Shecomescloser.“Youandme,”shesays,pointingbetweenus,“we’rebothfuckedup.”
Iswallowagainstalumpinmythroat.Shetakesastepcloser,pointsherfingeratme,stabsmeinthechestwithit.ThebarkofthetreepressesagainstmybackandIcan’tmove.Hervoiceisloudnow,losingcontrol.
“Youthinkyoucancomeinhereandtakeherplace.Sleepinherbed.Wearherfuckingclothes.Youarenother.Youwillneverbeher!”shescreams.
“Imogen,”Iwhisper.“Inever…”Istarttosayasherheaddropsintoherhands.Imogenbeginstosob,herentirebodysurginglikeoceanwaves.“Iwouldnevertrytotakeyourmother’splace,”Isayinamutedtone.
Theairaroundusisbitterandbleak.Ibracemyselfasagustofwindcomesrushingpastandthroughme.IwatchasImogen’sdyedblackhairswirlsaroundher,herskinrawandredinsteadofitsusualpalewhite.
Igotoreachahandouttoher,topatherarm,toconsoleher.Shedrawsswiftlyawayfromthetouch.
Shedropsherarms.Sheraiseshereyes.Shescreamsatmethen,thesuddennessofherstatement,theemptinessofhereyesstartlingme.Ipullback.
“Shecouldn’tdoit.Shewantedto.Butshejustcouldn’tgetherselftodoit.Shefrozeup.Shelookedatme.Shewascrying.Shebeggedme.Helpme,Imogen,”sheseethes,salivacomingfromhermouth,buildinginthecornersofherlips.Sheleavesitthere.
Ishakemyhead,confused.Whatisshesaying?“Shewantedyoutohelpwithherpain?”Iask.“Shewantedyoutomakethepaingoaway?”
Sheshakesherhead;shelaughs.“You’reanidiot,”shesays.
Shecomposesherselfthen.Shewipesatthespit,standsupright.Looksatmedefiantly,moreliketheImogenIknownow,nolongerinpieces.
“No.”Shecontinuesundaunted.“Shedidn’twantmetohelpherlive.Shewantedmetohelpherdie.”
Mybreathleavesme.Ithinkofthestepstool,outofreachofAlice’sfeet.
“Whatdidyoudo,Imogen?”Iforceout.
“Youhavenoidea,”shesays,hertonechilling.“Youhavenofuckingcluewhatitwasliketohearhercryinthemiddleofthenight.Painsobadattimesthatshecouldn’thelpbutscream.She’dgetallexcitedaboutsomenewdoctor,somenewtreatment,onlyforittofuckingfailagain,herhopesdashed.Itwashopeless.Shewasn’tgettinganybetter.Shewasnevergoingtogetanybetter.Nooneshouldhavetolivelikethat.”
Imogen,withtearsdrippingfromhereyes,startsatthebeginningandgoesthroughitagain.Thedaybeganlikeanyotherday.Shewokeup;shewenttoschool.MostdaysAlicewouldbewaitinginthefoyerwhenshecamehome.ButthatdayAlicewasn’tthere.Imogencalledouttoher.Therewasnoreply.Shestartedsearchingthehousewhenalightintheatticluredhertothethirdfloor.Thereshefoundhermotherstandingonthestepstool,thenoosearoundherneck.She’dbeenthatwayforhours.Alice’skneeswereshakinginfear,inexhaustion,asshetriedinvaintowillherselffromthestool.She’dleftanote.Itwaslyingonthefloor.Imogenhasitmemorized.YouknowaswellasIdohowhardthisisforme,thenoteread.It’snothingyoudid.Itdoesn’tmeanIdon’tloveyou.ButIcan’tkeeplivingthisdoublelife.NotaDearJohnnotebutAlice’ssuicidenote,whichImogenpickedupandslippedintothepocketofhersweatshirtthatday.Imogenatfirsttriedtotalkherdownfromthestool.Toconvincehertostayandlive.ButAlicewasdecided.Shejustcouldn’ttaketheplunge.Helpme,Imogen,shebegged.
Imogenlooksstraightatme,says,“Iyankedthatfuckingstoolfrombeneathherfeet.Itwasn’teasy.ButIclosedmyeyesandIyankedfordearlife.AndIran.IranfasterthanIhaveinmylife.Irantomybedroom.Ihidbeneaththefuckingpillow.AndIscreamedmyheadoffsoIdidn’thavetohearherdie.”
Icatchmybreath.Itwasnotsuicide,notexactly,butalsonotasmalevolentasIoncebelieved.Itwasassisteddying,likethosedoctorswhoslipalethaldoseofsleepingpillstoaterminalpatienttoletthemdieoftheirownaccord.
I’veneverbeenthatkindofdoctor.
Myjobistohelppatientslive,nottohelpthemdie.
IstareatImogenopenmouthed,thinking:Whatkindofpersoncoulddothat?Whatkindofpersoncouldgrabaholdofthestepstoolandpull,knowingfullwellwhattheoutcomewouldbe?
ItwouldtakeacertainkindofpersontodowhatImogenhasdone.Toactonimpulseandnotthinkofwhatcomesnext.Shejustaseasilycouldhavecalledforhelpinthatmomentthatshepulled.Shejustaseasilycouldhavecutdownhermother’snoose.
Beforemeshecries;sheconvulses.Ican’tstandtothinkwhatshe’sbeenthrough,whatshe’sseen.Nosixteen-year-oldshouldeverbeputinsuchaposition.
ShameonAlice,Ithink.
Butalso:shameonImogen.
“Youdidtheonlythingyouknewtodo,”Ilie,sayingitonlytoconsoleherbecauseIthinksheneedstobeconsoled.Ireachhesitantlyforher,andforasplitsecond,sheletsme.Onlyasecond.
ButasIwrapmyarmsgingerlyaroundher,scaredandjustbarelytouching,itstrikesmethatI’mholdingamurderer,evenifthereasonsforitwerejustifiedinhermind.Butsheisrepentantandgrievingnow.ForthefirsttimeImogendisplaysanemotionotherthananger.I’veneverseenherlikethisbefore.
Butthen,truetoform,asifshecanhearthethoughtsinmymind,shestandssuddenlyupright.Sheswatsathertearswithasleeve.Hereyesarevacant,herfacedeadpan.
Shegivesmeasuddenshoveintheshoulder.There’snothinggentleaboutit.It’srough,hostile.Thespotwhereherfingertipspressviolentlyintothethoracicoutlet,thattenderplacebetweenthecollarboneandribs,stings.Ifallastepback,trippingoverarockbehindme,asshesays,“GetyourfuckinghandsoffmeorI’lldotoyouwhatIdidtoher.”
TherockislargeenoughthatIlosemybalancecompletelyandfalltomyseatonthewet,snowyearth.
Istifleagasp.Istareupather,standingoverme,unspeaking.There’snothingtosay.
Shefindsafallenstickontheground.Shegrabsforit,comingatmequicklylikeshemighthitmeagain.Iflinch,throwmyhandsinadvertentlytomyheadtoprotectit.
Thistime,shestepsdown.
Insteadofhittingme,ImogenscreamssoloudlythatIfeeltheearthbeneathmeshake,“Leave!”thesingleworddrawnout.
Ifindmyfeet.AsIwalkquicklyaway,terrifiedtoturnmybacktoherthoughIdo,Ihearhercallmeafreakforgoodmeasure,asifthedeaththreatwasn’tenough.
SADIE
Idrivehomethatnight,pullingontoourstreet,headingupthehill.ItwashoursagothatIleftImogenatthecemetery.Itwasearlyafternoonthenandnowit’snight.It’sdarkoutside.Timehasgottenawayfromme.TherearetwocallsonmyphonethatI’vemissed,bothfromWill,wonderingwhereIam.WhenIseehim,I’lltellhimhowIspenttheday.AboutmyconversationwithImogenatthecemetery.ButIwon’ttellhimeverythingbecausewhatwouldhethinkofmeifheknewIstoleawoman’skeysandbrokeintoherhome?
AsIdrivepastthevacanthousenextdoortoours,myeyesgotoit.It’sdarkasitshouldbe;thelightswon’tturnonforawhilestill.Snowaccumulatesonthedrivewhileothershavebeenshoveledclean.It’ssoobviousnoonelivestherenow.
I’movercomewithasuddenurgetoseeformyselfwhat’sinsidethathome.
It’snotthatIthinkanyoneistherenow.Butmymindcan’tgetpastonething.IfsomeonehadcometotheislandtomurderMorganlateatnight,therewouldhavebeennoferrybacktothemainland.Heorshewouldhavehadtospendthenightherewithus.
Andwhatbetterplacetostaythanavacanthome,wherenoonewouldknow.
It’snotamurdererI’mlookingforasIleavemycarinmyowndrivewayandsneakacrossthesnow-coveredlawn.It’sevidencethatsomeonehasbeenhere.
IlookovermyshoulderasIgo,wonderingifanyoneiswatchingme,ifanyoneknowsI’mhere.Therearefootprintsinthesnow.Ifollowthem.
Thehousenextdoorisacottage.It’ssmall.Igotothedoorfirstandknock.Idon’texpectanyonetoanswer.ButIdoitanywaybecauseitwouldbefoolishnotto.Nooneanswersthedoor.AndsoIpressmyfacetotheglassandlookin.Iseenothingoutoftheordinary.Justalivingroomwithfurnituredrapedinplastic.
Imakemywayaroundtheperipheryofthehome.Idon’tknowwhatI’mlookingfor.ButI’mlookingforsomething.Awayin,conceivably,andsureenough—afteralittlesearching,afewfailedattempts,dwindlinghope—it’sthere.
Thewindowwellcoveronthebackofthehomeisnotsecure.
Iliftitupanditeasilygives.Idustoffthesnow.Iremovethewholethingandsetitaside,handstremblingasIdo.
Icarefullylowermyselfdownintothewindowwell.It’satightfit.Ihavetocontortmybodyinanoddwaytogettothewindow.Thescreen,whenIgettoit,istorn.Notjustalittle,butenoughforawholebodytogetthrough.Itugonthewindowbehindit,thinkingitwon’tgive—surelythiscan’tbesoeasy—buttomysurpriseitdoes.
Thewindowintothebasementisunlocked.
Whatkindofhomeownerdoesn’tsecuretheirhomebeforeleavingforthewinter?
Ipressmybodythroughthewindow,feetfirst.Iclimbawkwardlyintothedarkbasement.Myheadpassesthroughacobwebasmyfeetlandonconcrete.Thecobwebstickstomyhair,thoughit’stheleastofmyconcerns.Therearesomanymorethingstofearthanthis.MyheartpoundsinsideofmychestasIglancearoundthebasementtobecertainI’malone.
Idon’tseeanyone.Butit’stoodarktoreallyknow.
Iinchacrossthebasement,findtheunfinishedstepstothefirstfloor.Igoslowly,draggingmyfeet,carefulnottomakeanynoiseasIclimb.Atthetopofthesteps,Isetmyhandonadoorhandle.Myhandissweaty,shaking,andsuddenlyI’mwonderingwhyIthoughtitwassuchagoodideatocomehere.ButI’vecomethisfar.Ican’tgoback.Ihavetoknow.
Iturntheknob,pressthedooropenandstepontothefirstfloor.
I’mterrified.Idon’tknowwho’shere,ifanyoneishere.Ican’tcalloutforfearthatsomeonemighthearme.ButasIcreeparoundthefirstfloorofthehome,therealityishardtoignore.Iseenoone,buttherearesignsoflifeeverywhere.It’sdarkoutsideandin;Ihavetousetheflashlightonmyphonetosee.Idiscoveranindentationintheplasticthatcoversalivingroomchair,asifsomeonesatdownthere.Apianoseatispulledout,sheetmusicontherack.Therearecrumbsonthecoffeetable.
Thecottageisasingle-storyhome.Imakemywaydownthedark,narrowhall,tiptoeingsoIdon’tmakeasound.IholdmybreathasIgo,takingshort,shallowbreathsonlywhenIhaveto,onlywhentheburnofcarbondioxideinmylungsismorethanIcanbear.
Icometothefirstroomandlookinside,shiningmyflashlightalongthefourwalls.Theroomissmall,abedroomthathasbeenconvertedintoasewingroom.Aseamstressliveshere.
Thenextroomisasmallbedroomcrammedwithornateantiquefurniturethat’sburiedbeneathplastic.Thecarpetingisthick,plush.Myfeetsinkintoit,andIfeelguiltyforwearingmyshoesinside,asifthat’stheworstofmyinfractions.Butthere’salsobreakingandentering.
Ileavethatroomandstepintothelargestbedroomofthethree,themasterbedroom.Theroomisspaciousincomparison.Butthat’snotthereasonmyeyesdoadoubletakewhenIstepinside.
Thesunhassetoutside.Onlyafainthintofbluecreepsinthroughthewindows.Thebluehour,it’scalled,whentheresidualsunlighttakesonabluetoneandturnstheworldtoblue.
Ishinemyflashlightintotheroom.Iseetheceilingfan,thebladesofwhichareformedintotheshapeofpalmleaves.Theceilingisatreyceiling.AndI’veseenitbefore.
I’vedreamedofthisroom.Idreamedofmyselflyinginthisbed,orabedsimilartothis,hotandsweatingbeneaththatfan,inthecrevassethatisstillinthecenterofthebed.Istaredatthefan,willedittomove,topushagustofcoldairontomyhotbody.Butitdidn’tbecausethenextthingIknewIwasstandingbesidethebedwatchingmyselfsleep.
Thisbed,unliketheotherfurnitureinthehouse,isn’tcoveredwithplastic.Theplasticthatshouldbeonthebedliesinaheaponthefloor,ontheothersideofthebed.
Someonehasbeensleepinginthisbed.
Someonewashere.
Idon’tbotherwiththebasementwindowwellthistime.Iheadstraightoutthefrontdoor.Icloseitbehindmyself,thelightinthelivingroomflickingonasIleave.
AsIrunbackhome,Iconvincemyselfthattheceiling,thebed,thefanweren’ttheverysameastheywereinmydream.Theyweresimilar,yes,butnotthesame.Dreamshaveawayoffadingfast,andsothetruedetailsofitwerelikelygonebeforeIeveropenedmyeyes.
Andbesides,itwasdarkinthatcottage.Ididn’tgetagoodlookattheceilingorthefan.
Butwithoutashredofdoubt,theplasticwaspulledfromthatbed.Thehomeownercoveredthebedjustlikealltheotherfurnitureinthehome.Butthensomeoneelseremovedit.
Onceinmyownyard,Ilookatmycellphone.It’sdying.Thebatterypercentagehoversataround2percent.IputinacalltoOfficerBerg.He’llbeabletosearchforfingerprintsandfigureoutwho’sbeenthere.Godwilling,he’llfindMorgan’smurderer.
Ihaveaminuteortwoatbestbeforethephonedies.Mycallgoestovoicemail.Ileaveaquickmessage.Iaskhimtocallme.Idon’ttellhimwhy.
BeforeIcanendthecall,mycellphonedies.
Idropthedeadphoneintomycoatpocket.Istepacrossthedriveway,movingtowardtheporch.Thehouse,fromtheoutside,isdark.Willhasforgottentoleavetheporchlightonforme.Therearelightsoninside,butIcan’tseetheboysfromhere.
There’sawarmnessaboutthehouse.Heatspewsfromthevents,grayagainstthenearblacknessofnight.Outside,it’swindyandcold.Thesnowthat’sfallenoverthelastfewdaysblowsabout,creatingsnowdriftsonthedrivewaysandstreets.Theskyisclear.There’snothreatofsnowtonightbutforecastersaregoinghogwildaboutastormthat’stoarrivelatetomorrow.Thefirstsubstantialstormoftheseason.
Anoisefrombehindstartlesme.It’sagrindingnoise,somethingdiscordant.I’mnottenfeetfromtheporchwhenIhearit.IspinandatfirstIdon’tseehimbecausehisbodyisblockedbyaformidabletree.Butthenhestepsforward,awayfromthetree,andIseehimmovingslowly,deliberately,asnowshoveldraggingbehindhimandthroughthestreet.
ThesnowshovelisthesoundthatIhear.Metalonconcrete.Heholdsontotheshaftoftheshovelwithaglovedhand,scrapingthebladeacrossthestreet.JeffreyBaines.
Willisinthehousemakingdinner.Thekitchenisintherearofthehouse.Hewouldn’thearmeifIscreamed.
Attheendofourdrive,Jeffreyturnsandmakeshiswaytowardme.There’ssomethingbedraggledabouthim.Hishairstandsonend.Hisdarkeyesarerheumyandred-rimmed.Hisglassesaremissing.Helooksnothinglikethesuave,affablemanImetatthememorialservicetheotherday.Rather,helookslikesomethingthecatdraggedin.
Myeyesgototheshovel.It’sthekindofthingthat’sversatile.Ithasdualpurposesbecausenotonlycouldhehitmeovertheheadandkillmewithit,buthecoulduseittoburymybody.
DoesheknowIwatchedhimandCourtneyatthememorialservice?ThatIwasinherhome?
I’mstrickenwithasuddenterror:Whatiftherearesecuritycamerasinsideherhome?Oneofthosefancynewdoorbellswiththecameratoletyouknowwho’satyourdoorwhenyou’renotthere?
“Jeffrey,”Isay,inchingbackward.Itrynottoletmyimaginationgetthebestofme.Therecouldbesomanyreasonswhyhe’shere.SomanyotherreasonsthantheoneIimagine.
“You’rehome,”IsaybecauseI’veonlyjustrealizedthathishomeisnolongeracrimescene.
Jeffreysensesmyfear.Hehearsitinmyvoice;heseesitinmybodylanguage.Myfeetretreat,thoughit’sinappreciablethewaythattheydo.Butstill,hiseyesdroptothem.Heseesthemovement.Likeadog,hecansmellmyfear.
“Iwasshovelingmydrive.Isawyoupullup,”hesays,andIreply,“Oh,”realizingthatifhedid—ifhesawmycarpullintothedrivefifteenortwentyminutesago—hemayhaveseenmeforcemywayintothehomenextdoor.HemayhaveheardthevoicemailIleftforOfficerBerg.
“Where’syourdaughter?”Iask.
Hesays,“She’sbusywithhertoys.”AsIlookacrossthestreet,Iseealightoninasecond-floorwindow.Theshadesareopen,thebedroombright.Iseethelittlegirl’ssilhouetteassheboundsaroundtheroomwithateddybearonhershoulders,asifgivinghimapiggybackride.Thelittlegirlislaughingtoherself,toherbear.Itonlyaddstomyunease.IthinkofwhatJeffreyconfessed,abouthowsheandMorganweren’tclose.
Isshegladherstepmotherisdead?Isshegladtohaveherfatherbackalltoherself?
“ItoldherI’dbejustaminute.AmIkeepingyoufromsomething?”Jeffreyasks,runningaglovedhandthroughhishair.Hewearsgloves,butnohat.Iwonderwhy,ifhe’sbundleduptoshovelsnow,hewearsnohat.Dotheglovesserveanotherpurposethankeepinghishandswarm?
“Will,”Itellhim,inchingbackward,“isinside.Theboys.Ihaven’tbeenhomeallday”iswhatIsay,thoughit’sapatheticexcuse,andIknowasIsayitthatIshouldhavesaidsomethingmoretangiblethanthat,moreconcrete,moredecisive.Dinnerisready.
Butmyreplyiswishy-washyatbest,andit’sJeffreyinsteadwhoisdecisiveashesays,“Yourhusbandisn’thome.”
“Ofcoursehe’shome,”Isay,butasIturnbacktothehouse,Itakeinthedarknessofourhome,thelackofmovement,thesuddenrealizationthatWill’scarisn’tinthedrive.HowdidInotrealizewhenIpulledinandparkedthatWill’scarwasn’there?Iwasn’tpayingattentionwhenIgothome.Iwastoocaughtupinotherthingstonotice.
Isinkmyhandintomypocket.I’llcallWill,findoutwhereheis.I’llbeghimtocomehome.
Butthenonresponsiveblackscreenremindsme:mycellphoneisdead.
Myfacemustwhiten.Jeffreyasks,“Iseverythingallright,Sadie?”andastearsofpanicprickmyeyes,Iforcethemback.Iswallowagainstalumpinmythroatandsay,“Yes,yes,ofcourse.Everythingisfine.”
Ilieandtellhimthen,“It’sbeenabusyday.Itslippedmymind.Willhadtopickoursonupfromafriend’shouse.Helivesjustaroundtheblock,”Isay,pointingarbitrarilybehindme,hopingJeffreymightassumeitwillbeaquicktripforWill.Thereandbackinamatterofminutes.He’llbehomesoon.
ItellJeffrey,“Ibettergetinside.Getdinnerstarted.Itwasniceseeingyou,”thoughI’mterrifiedtoturnmybacktohim.Butthere’snootherway.Ihavetogetinside,closethedoorandlockthedeadboltbehindmyself.Ihearthedogsbark.Iseetheirfacespressedtothewindowsthatflankthefrontdoor.Butwheretheyare,trappedinside,theycan’thelpme.
IholdmybreathasIturn.Igrindmyteeth,steelmyselffortheagonizingpainofthesquarebladeagainstthebackofmyhead.
I’vebarelymovedwhenaheavy,glovedhandfallstomyshoulder.
“TherewassomethingIwantedtoaskbeforeyougo.”
Thetoneofhisvoiceisoppressiveashesaysit.It’schilling.Betweenmylegs,mypelvicfloorweakens.Urineseepsintomyunderpants.Iturnreluctantlybacktoseetheshovelrootedtothegroundnow.Jeffreyleansonit,usesitforsupport,tugsonthecuffofhisglovestobesurethey’reontight.
“Yes?”Iask,voicequivering.
Headlightsveerthiswayandthatthroughthetrees.Butthey’reinthedistance,movingawayinsteadofdrawingnear.
WhereisWill?
Jeffreytellsmethathe’scometotalktomeabouthisdeadwife.
“Whatabouther?”Iask,feelingthewaymyvocalcordsvibrateinsideofme.
ButashestartstospeakofMorgan,achangebecomeshim.Hisstanceshifts.HegetschokedupspeakingaboutMorgan.It’ssubtle,afilmthatcovershiseyes,ratherthantearsthatrunfromhisnoseandacrosshischeeks.Hiseyesglisteninthemoonlight,intheglowoffthesnow.
“TherewassomethingwrongwithMorgan,”hetellsme.“Somethinghadherupset.Scaredeven.Shewouldn’tsaywhat.Didshetellyou?”
Itseemssoobvious,sotransparent.Ishouldn’thavetobetheonetoputtheideainhishead.Butmaybetheideaisalreadythere,andhe’sonlybeingcunning.Slyasafox.Ithinkheorhisex-wifehadsomethingtodowithit.Theproofisinherhouse,inherownconfession.ButhowcanIadmittoeavesdroppingontheirconversationinthechurchsanctuary,tobreakingintotheotherwoman’shouseandgoingthroughherthings?
Ishakemyhead.“Morgantoldmenothing.”
Idon’ttellhimthatIdidn’tknowMorganwellenoughforhertotellmewhyshewasupset.Idon’ttellhimthatIdidn’tknowMorganatall.It’seasytoseethatcommunicationwasn’tJeffreyandMorgan’sstrongsuitbecauseifitwas,onewouldthinkhe’dalreadyknowthatMorganandIweren’tfriends.
Iask,“Whatmakesyouthinkshewasscared?”
“Mycompanyhasgoneglobalrecently.I’vespentagreatdealoftimeoverseas.It’sbeendifficult,tosaytheleast.Thetimeawayfromhome,yes,butmoresothedifficultiesoflearninganewlanguage,culture,oftryingtointegrateintoaforeigncountry,succeedatmyjob.I’dbeenunderalotofpressure.Idon’tknowwhyI’mtellingyouallthis,”hesays,apologeticallyalmost.There’sahintofvulnerabilitythere.
Idon’tknowwhattosaytohim,andsoIsaynothing.
Idon’tknowwhyhe’stellingmethiseither.
Jeffreygoeson.“IguessI’mjusttryingtosaythatIwasoverworked,burnedout.Completelyoverwhelmedwithwork.Ihaven’tbeenhomemuchlately.Anytimespentathomewasoftenbesetwithjetlag.ButsomethinghadMorganupset.Iaskedwhatitwas.Butshewasselflesstoafault.Shewouldn’ttellme.Shesaiditwasnothing.Shewouldn’tburdenmewithwhateveritwas.Iasked,”headmits,saddened.“ButIdidn’taskenough.”
Itstrikesmethatthisisn’tthefaceofamadmanIsee.
Thisisthefaceofagrievingwidower.
“Iheardonthenewsthattherewerethreateningnotes,”Isay.
“Therewere,”hesays.“Yes.Thepolicefoundnotesinourhome.”
“Forgivemeforsayingthis.It’snotmybusiness.Butyourex-wife.Isitpossibleshehadhardfeelingsaboutanewwomaninyourlife?”
“YouthinkCourtneydidthis?Sentthethreats,murderedMorgan.”Heshakeshishead,saysdecisively,“No.Noway.Courtneyisthetypetoflyoffthehandle,yes.She’srash.Shehasatemper.Shedoesstupidthings.”
AndthenhegoesontotellmeaboutsomenightCourtneycametotheislandwiththesoleintentofstealingherownchild.Shealmostgotawaywithit,becauseshehadkeystothehomeJeffreyandMorgansharedsinceitwasonceherownhome.Aftereveryonewasasleep,sheletherselfin,wenttotheirdaughter’sbedroom,rousedthelittlegirlfromsleep.ItwasMorganwhocaughtthemastheyweremakingtheirwaybackoutside.Courtneyhadplaneticketsinherpossession;she’dsomehowalreadygottenapassportfortheirgirl.Sheplannedtoleavethecountrywiththeirdaughter.“Morganwantedtofightforfullcustody.Shedidn’tthinkCourtneywasfittoparent.”
Thedayatthememorialservicecomesbacktome.
Mytempergotthebestofme.
Iwasangry.
Youcan’tblamemefortryingtotakebackwhat’smine.
I’mnotsorryshe’sdead.
Werethesewordsdouble-edged?Maybenotaconfessiontomurder,butratherareferencetothenightshetriedtostealherownchild.
“Takingachildawayfromhermother…”Isay,lettingmyvoicetrailoff.Whatthatis—takingachildfromhermother—ismotivetokill.ExceptIdon’tsayitlikethat.InsteadIsay,“Ifanyoneevergotbetweenmeandmychildren,I’dbebesidemyself.”
Jeffreyisresolute.“Courtneyisn’tamurderer,”hesays.“AndthethreatsMorganreceivedwere…”Buthestopsthere,unabletoputintowordswhatexactlythethreatswere.
“Whatdidthenotessay?”Iaskhesitantly.I’mnotsureIwanttoknow.
Therewerethreenotes,Jeffreytellsme.Hedoesn’tknowforcertainwhentheyarrived,buthehashisassumptionsonone.HehadwatchedMorganmakeherwaytothemailboxoneafternoon.ItwasaSaturdayamonthorsoago.Hewashome.HewatchedoutthewindowasMorganwentdownthedrive.
“Ihadahabitofstaringatherwhenshedidn’tknowIwaswatching,”heconfesses.“It’sbecauseofhowbeautifulshewas.Itwaseasytodo.Morgan,”hetellsme,smilingnostalgicallyatthememoryofhiswife,“waseasyontheeyes.Everyonethoughtso,”andIrememberwhatOfficerBergsaidaboutthemenintownhavingeyesforher.AboutWillhavingeyesforher.
“Yes,”Ireply.“Shewaslovely,”changingthewayIthinkofhimbecauseIcanseeinhiseyesjusthowmuchhelovedMorgan.
ThatdayJeffreysaysthathewatchedasshebentatthewaist,asshestretchedahandintotheboxtoretrievethemail,asshemadethelongwalkbackupthedriveway,thumbingthroughthemailasshewent.
Halfwayupthedrive,Morgancametoastandstill.Herhandwenttohermouth.Bythetimeshemadeitinside,shewasaswhiteasaghost.ShebrushedpastJeffreyinthedoorway,shakingasshedidso.Heaskedwhatwaswrong,whatshefoundinthemailthatmadehersoupset.Morgansaidonlybills—thattheinsurancecompanyhadn’tcoveredarecentdoctorappointment.Thebalanceleftforthemtopaywashighwayrobbery.
Itshouldhavebeencovered,shesnapped,marchingupthestairswiththemailinherhand.
Whereareyougoing?hecalledupthestairsafterher.
Tocalltheinsurancecompany,shesaid,butshewentintothebedroomandclosedthedoor.
EverythingaboutMorganchangedthatday.Thechangesweresubtle.Anotherpersonmightnothavenoticed.Therewasasuddenpropensitytowardclosingthecurtainsassoonastheskyturneddark.Arestlessnessabouthiswifethathadn’tbeentherebefore.
Thenotesthatthepolicefoundwerealldifferent,slippedinbetweentheboxspringandthemattressthatJeffreyandMorganslepton.She’dintentionallyhiddenthemfromhim.
Iaskwhattheysaid,andhetellsme.
Youknownothing.
Tellanyoneanddie.
I’mwatchingyou.
Achillrunsupmyspine.Myeyesgotothewindowsofhomesonthestreet.
Issomeonewatchingus?
“DidMorganandyourex-wifegetalong?”Iask,thoughevenIcanseethesethreatsmakenosensecomingfromanaggrievedex-wife.Thesethreatshavenothingtodowithawomantryingtoreclaimtherightstoherchild.Thesethreatshavenothingtodowithahusbandhopingforalifeinsurancepayoutinthewakeofhiswife’sdeath.
Thesethreatsaresomethingelse.
Allthistime,I’vebeenwrong.
“I’mtellingyou,”Jeffreysays,becomingagitatednow.Goneisthemanwhostoodsmilingathiswife’smemorialservice.He’scomeundone.Jeffreyisunwaveringnowashestatesemphatically,“Courtneyhadnothingtodowiththis.Someoneelsewasthreateningmywife.Someoneelsewantedherdead.”
Iseethisnow.
SADIE
“Iusedthelastofthemilkonthemacandcheese,”Willtellsmewhenhegetshome,steppingintothehouseonlyminutesafterme.Tateiswithhim.Heskipsmerrilythroughthefrontdoor,tellsWilltocounttotwentyandthencomefindhim.HedashesofftohideasWillunpacksahandfulofitemsfromagrocerysackonthecounter.
Willwinksatme,admits,“Itoldhimwe’dplayhide-and-seekifhewentwithmewithoutafuss.”Willcanturnanyerrandintoanadventure.
IntheCrock-PotcooksWill’sfamousmacaroniandcheese.Thetableissetforfive,asifWillbullishlybelievesImogenwillbehome.Hecarriesthegallonofmilkhe’sjustbroughthometothetable,andfillstheemptyglassesinturn
“Where’sOtto?”Iask,andWilltellsme,“Upstairs.”
“Hedidn’tgowithyouandTate?”
Willshakeshisheadno.“Itwasonlyaquicktripformilk,”hesays.
Willturnstome,seeingmeperhapsonlythenforthefirsttimesincehe’sarrivedhome.
“What’sthematter,Sadie?”heasks,settingthemilkontheedgeofthetableandcomingtome.“You’reshakinglikealeaf.”
HewrapshisarmsaroundmeandIwanttotellhimaboutthediscoveriesoftheday.Iwanttogetitalloffmychest,butforwhateverreason,insteadIsay,“It’snothing,”blaminglowbloodsugarforthereasonIshake.I’lltellhimlater,whenTateisn’tjustinthenextroomwaitingforWilltofindhim.“Ididn’thavetimeforlunch.”
“Youcan’tkeepdoingthistoyourself,Sadie,”Willtenderlyreprimands.
Willreachesintothepantryandfindsacookieformetoeat.Hehandsittome,saying,“Justdon’ttelltheboysaboutthis.Nocookiesbeforedinner.It’llruinyourappetite.”Hesmilesashesaysitand,evenaftereverythingwe’vebeenthrough,Ican’thelpbutsmileback,becausehe’sstillthere:theWillIfellinlovewith.
Istareathimawhile.Myhusbandishandsome.HislonghairispulledbackandallIcanseeisthatchiseledjawline,thesharpanglesofhischeeks,andthosebeguilingeyes.
ButthenIremembersuddenlywhatOfficerBergsaidaboutWillhavingeyesforMorganandIwonderifit’strue.MyownsmileslipsfrommyfaceandIfeelregretbegintobrewinside.
Icanbecold,Iknow.Glacialeven.I’vebeentoldthisbefore.IoftenthinkthatIwastheonetopushWillintothearmsofanotherwoman.IfonlyIhadbeenmoreaffectionate,moresensitive,morevulnerable.Morehappy.Butinmylife,allI’veknownisaninherentsadness.
WhenIwastwelve,myfathercomplainedabouthowmoodyIcouldbe.Highasakiteoneday,sadthenext.Heblamedtheimminenceofmyteenageyears.Iexperimentedwithmyclothingaskidsthatagetendtodo.IwasdesperatetofigureoutwhoIwas.HesaidthereweredaysIscreamedathimtostopcallingmeSadiebecauseIhatedthenameSadie.Iwantedtochangemyname,besomeoneelse,anyoneotherthanme.ThereweretimesIwassnarky,timesIwaskind.TimesIwasoutgoing,timesIwasshy.Icouldbethebullyjustaseasilyasbebullied.
Perhapsitwasonlyteenagerebellion.Theneedforself-discovery.Thesurgeofhormones.Butmythen-therapistdidn’tthinkso.Shediagnosedmewithbipolardisorder.Iwasonmoodstabilizers,antidepressants,antipsychotics.Noneofithelped.Thetippingpointcamelater,afterI’dmetandmarriedWill,afterI’dstartedmyfamilyandmycareer.
Tatecallsoutfromanotherroom,“Comefindme,Daddy!”andWillexcuseshimself,kissingmeslowlybeforeheleaves.Idon’tpullaway.Ilethimthistime.Hecradlesmyfaceinhishands.Ashissoftlipsbrushovermine,IfeelsomethingIhaven’tfeltinalongtime.IwantWilltokeepkissingme.
ButTatecallsforhimagainandWillleaves.
Iheadupstairstochange.Aloneinthebedroom,Iwonderifit’spossibletodreamaboutaplaceyou’veneverbeen.Itakemyquestiontotheinternet.Theanswerisn’tsoeasytofindaboutplaces.Butitisaboutfaces.Theinternetclaimsthatallthefacesweeverseeinourdreamsarefaceswe’veseeninreallife.
It’sbeenoveranhour,butOfficerBergstillhasn’tcalledmeback.
Ichangeintoapairofpajamas.Idropmyclothesintothelaundrybasket.Thebasketitselfoverflows,andIthinkthataftereverythingWilldoesforus,theleastIcandoisasingleloadoflaundry.I’mtootiredtodoitnow,butfirstthingtomorrow,beforework,I’llthrowinaload.
Weeatdinnertogether.Asexpected,Imogenisano-show.Ipickatmyfood,hardlyabletoeat.“Pennyforyourthoughts,”Willsaystowardtheendofdinner,andonlythendoIrealizeIspenttheentiretyofourmealstaringoffintospace.
Iapologizetohimandblamefatigue.
Willdoesthedishes.TatedisappearstowatchTV.Ottoplodsoutoftheroomandupthestairs.Ihearhisbedroomdoorclosefromthisdistance,andonlythen,whenI’mcertainthey’rebothoutofearshot,doItellWillwhatImogensaidtomeinthecemetery.Idon’thesitatebecause,ifIdo,Imightjustlosethenerve.I’mnotsurehowWillisgoingtorespond.
“IsawImogentoday,”Ibegin.Ifillhiminonthedetails:howtheschoolcalled,howIfoundheraloneatthecemetery.Howtherewerepillswithher.Idon’tdancearoundthewords.
“Shewasangrybutunreserved.Wegottotalking.Shetoldme,Will,thatsheyankedthatstooloutfromAlice’sfeetthedayshedied,”Itellhim.“Ifitwasn’tforImogen,Alicemightstillbealive.”
IfeellikeasnitchasIsayit,butit’smyduty,myresponsibilitytotellWill.Imogenisadisturbedchild.Sheneedshelp.Willneedstoknowwhatshehasdonesothatwecangetherthehelpshedeserves.
Willgoesstiffatfirst.He’satthesinkwithhisbacktowardme.Buthispostureturnssuddenlyvertical.Adishslipsfromhiswethands,fallstothesink.Itdoesn’tbreak,butthesoundofadinnerplatehittingthesinkisloud.Ijumpbecauseofit.Willcurses.
Inthemomentsofsilencethatfollow,Ioffer,“I’msorry,Will.I’msosorry,”asIreachouttotouchhisshoulder.
Heturnsoffthewaterandcomestofaceme,dryinghishandsonatowel.Hiseyebrowsarelowered,hisfaceflat.“She’smessingwithyou,”hesaysincontrovertibly.Thedenialisclearasday.
“Howdoyouknow?”Iask,thoughIknowthatwhatImogentoldmeistrue.Iwasthere.Iheardher.
“Shewouldn’tdothat,”hesays,meaningthatImogenwouldn’thelphermotherdie.Butthetruthofthematter,Ithink,isthatWilldoesn’twanttobelieveshewould.
“Howcanyoubesure?”Iask,remindinghimthatwebarelyknowthisgirl.Thatshe’sbeenapartofourlifeforonlyafewlongweeksnow.WehavenoideawhoImogenis.
“There’sthisanimositybetweenyouandher,”hesays,asifthisissomethingpetty,somethingtrivial,andnotamatteroflifeanddeath.“Can’tyouseeshe’sdoingitintentionallybecauseitgetsariseoutofyou?”heasks,andit’struethatImogendoesn’tbehavethiswaytowardWillandtheboys.Butthatdoesn’tchangethings.There’sanothersidetoImogenthatWillcan’tsee
MymindgoesbacktoourconversationthismorningaboutthephotographonImogen’sphone.“Wereyouabletorecoverthephotos?”Iask,thinkingthatifhefoundthephoto,therewillbeproof.He’llbeabletoseeitthewaythatIdo
Heshakeshishead,tellsmeno.“Iftherewasaphotograph,it’sgone,”hesays.
Hiscarefullychosenwordscomeasapunchtothegut.Iftherewasaphotograph.Unlikeme,Willisn’tsurethereeverwas.
“Youdon’tbelieveme?”Iask,feelingbruised.
Hedoesn’tanswerrightaway.Hethinksbeforehespeaks.
Intimehesays,expressionthoughtful,armsfoldedacrosshischest,“Youdon’tlikeImogen,Sadie.Shescaresyou,yousaid.Youdidn’twanttocomeheretoMaineandnowyouwanttoleave.Ithinkyou’relookingforareason—”hebegins,tiptoeingaroundthetruth.Histruth.ThatI’mmanufacturingareasontoleave.
Iholdupahandandstophimthere.Idon’tneedtoheartherestofit.
Onlyonethingmatters.Hedoesn’tbelieveme.
Iturnonmyheelsandleave.
SADIE
Ispendanotherfitfulnighttossingandturninginbed.Igiveupthefightnearfivea.m.,slippingquietlyfrombed.Thedogsfollow,eagerforanearlybreakfast.Onthewayoutthebedroomdoor,IreachforthebasketoflaundryIleftformyselftoclean,hoistingitontomyhip.Iwalkoutintothehallanddownthestairs.
I’mapproachingthelandingwhenmybarefootlandsonsomethingsharp.Itpokesmeinthearchofthefoot.Isinktothestepstoseewhatitis,restingthelaundrybasketonmylap.Inthedarkness,Ifeelblindlyfortheoffendingitem,takingitintothelightofthekitchentosee.
It’sasmallsilverpendantonaropechain,nowcoiledintoamoundonmypalm.It’sbroken,snippedintwo,notattheclaspbutinthecenterofthechainsothatitcan’tgobacktogetheragain.Suchashame,Ithink.
Iclaspthependantbetweenmyfingers,seeingtheonesideisblank.
Iturnitover.ThereontheothersideisanM.Someone’sinitial.Butwhose?
Hersisn’tthefirstnamethatcomestome.IthinkofMichelleandMandyandMaggiefirst.Butthenthethoughtarrives,crashingintome,knockingthewindfrommylungs.
MforMorgan.
Inthekitchen,Isuckinasuddenbreath.DidthisnecklacebelongtoMorgan?
Ican’tsaywithcertainty.Butmygutthinksso.
Whatisthisnecklacedoinginourhome?Thereisn’tonegoodreasonwhyitwouldbehere.OnlyreasonsI’mtooscaredtoconsider.
IleaveitonthecountertopasIturnandmakemywaytothelaundryroom.Myhandsareshakingnow,thoughItellmyselfit’stheoreticalonly.ThenecklacecouldjustaswellbelongtoaMichelleasitcouldtoMorganBaines.PerhapsOttohasacrushonsomegirlandplannedtogivethistoher.AgirlnamedMichelle.
Iupendthebasketandlaundrycomestumblingout,ontothefloor.Isortthelaundry,separatingthewhitesandcolorsintopiles.Igrabarmfulsofitandbeginthrustingitintothewashingmachine,toomuchforoneload.ButIwanttogetitdone.I’mnotthinkingaboutanyonethinginparticular,butmanythings,thoughthethingthattrumpsallishowIcangetmymarriage,myfamilybackontrack.Becausetherewasonceatimewhenwewerehappy.
Mainewasmeanttobeanewbeginning,afreshstart.Insteadit’shadadetrimentaleffectoneverything,Will’sandmymarriage,ourfamily,ourlives.It’stimethatweleave,gosomewhereelse.NotbacktoChicago,butsomewherenew.We’llsellthehouse,takeImogenwithus.Ithinkoftheplaceswecouldgo.Somanypossibilities.IfonlyIcouldconvinceWilltoleave.
Mymindiselsewhere.Notonthelaundry.I’mhardlypayingattentiontothelaundryatall,otherthanthisquick,forcefulwayIjamthingsintothemachine,slammingthedoor.Ireachforthedetergentonanearbyshelf.OnlythendoIcatchsightofafewitemsthatsneakedout,escapeesfromthewashingmachinelyinglimponthelaundryroomfloor.
Ibendatthewaisttoretrievethem,readytoopenthedoorandtossthembackin.It’sasIstand,hunchedover,scoopingtheitemsintomyhand,thatIseeit.AtfirstIblamethepoorlightinginthelaundryroomforwhatitisIsee.Blood,onawashcloth.Agreatdealofit,thoughItrytoconvincemyselfthatit’snotblood.
Thestainisnotasredasitisbrownbecauseofthewaybloodchangescolorasitdries.Butstill,it’sblood.Undeniablyblood.
ItwouldbesoeasytosaythatWillhadcuthimselfshaving,orthatTatehadascrapedkneeor—worst-casescenario—OttoorImogenhadpickedupahabitofcutting,savefortheamountofbloodonthewashcloth.Notmerelyadaboratrace,butthewashclothhasbeenwetthroughwithitandallowedtodry.
Iturnitoverinmyhand.Thebloodhasseepedtobothsides.
Iletthewashclothfallfrommyhand.
Myheartisinmythroat.IfeellikeIcan’tbreathe.I’vehadthewindknockedoutofme.
AsIrisequicklytostandupright,gravityforcesallthebloodinmedowntomytrunk.Thereitpools,unabletomakeitswaybackuptomybrain.Ibecomedizzy.Everythingbeforemebeginstoblur.Blackspecksdancebeforemyeyes.Isetmyhandonthewalltobalancemyselfbeforeloweringslowlytotheground.ThereIsitbesidethebloodstainedwashcloth,seeingonlyit,nottouchingitnowbecauseofalltheDNAevidencethatmustbeonthatrag.
Morgan’sblood,hermurderer’sfingerprints.Andnowmine.
Idon’tknowhowthisbloodywashclothcametobeinsideourhome.Butsomeoneputithere.Theoptionsarefew.
Ilosetrackoftime.IsitonthelaundryroomfloorlongenoughthatIhearthesoundoffootstepsgallopingaroundthehouse.Light,quickfootstepsthatbelongtoTate,followedbyheavierones:Will.
Ishouldbeintheshowerbynow.Ishouldbegettingreadyforwork.Willcallsoutquietlyforme,havingnoticedthatIwasn’tinbed.“Sadie?”
“Coming,”Icallbreathlesslyback,wantingtoshowWillthewashcloth,butunabletowhenTateisthereinthekitchenwithhim.IhearTate’svoiceaskingforFrenchtoast.Thewashclothwillhavetowait.Ihideitfornowinthelaundryroom,layingitflatbeneaththewashingmachinewherenoonewillfindit.It’sstiffwithbloodandeasilyslidesunder.
Irisefromthefloorreluctantlyandcreepbackintothekitchen,overcomewiththeurgetovomit.Thereisakillerlivinginmyhomewithme.
“Where’veyoubeen?”Willasksatseeingme,andallIcantellhimis“Laundry.”Itcomesoutinoneforcedbreath,andthenagain,theblackspecksappear,dancingbeforemyeyes.
“Why?”heasks,andItellhimtherewassomuch.
“Youdidn’tneedtodothat.Iwouldhavedoneit,”hesays,reachingintotherefrigeratorforthemilkandeggs.Iknowhewouldhavedonethelaundryeventually.Healwaysdoes.
“Iwastryingtohelp,”Isay.
“Youdon’tlookgood,”hetellsmeasmyhandholdstightlytothecrownmoldingofthedoorsothatIdon’tfall.Iwantsomuchtotellhimabouttheblood-soakedwashcloththatsomeoneleftinthelaundrybasket.ButIdon’tbecauseofTate.
IhearTate,besidehim,ask,“What’swrongwithMommy?”
“Idon’tfeelgood.Stomachflu,”Iforceout.Willcomestome,pressesahandtomyforehead.I’mnotrunningafever.ButIfeelhotandclammynonetheless.“Ineedtogoliedown,”Isay,clutchingmystomachasIleave.Onthewayupstairs,thebileinsidemebeginstoriseandIfindmyselfrushingtothebathroom.
MOUSE
Mousefroze.Shewaitedforthesoundofthebedroomdoortoopenonthefirstfloor,forFakeMomtocomeforher.Mousewasscared,thoughitwasn’tMouse’sfaultshe’dmadenoise.It’snotlikeapersoncanstopthemselvesfromsneezing.
Herlegsshookinfear.Herteethbegantochatter,thoughMousewasn’tcold.
Howlongshewaitedthereonthestairs,Mousedidn’tknow.Shecountedtonearlythreehundredinherhead,exceptshelostcounttwiceandhadtostartalloveragain.
WhenFakeMomdidn’tcome,Mousethoughtmaybeshehadn’theardher.MaybeFakeMomhadsleptrightthroughthatsneeze.Shedidn’tknowhowthatwaspossible—thesneezehadbeenloud—butMousethankedherluckystarsifshehad.
Shecontinuedontoherbedroomandclimbedintobed.There,inherbed,shetalkedtoherrealmom,sameasshealwaysdid.ShetoldherwhatFakeMomhaddone,howshehadhurtMouseandMr.Bear.Shetoldherrealmomhowshewasscaredandhowshewantedherfathertocomehome.Shesaiditinherhead.Mouse’sfatheralwaystoldherthatshecouldtalktoherrealmomwhenevershewantedto.Hetoldherthatwherevershewas,hermomwaslistening.AndsoMousedid.Shetalkedtoherallthetime.
ThoughsometimesMousetookitastepfurtherthanthatandimaginedwhatherrealmomsaidback.Sometimessheimaginedherrealmomwasintheverysameroomasherandtheywerehavingaconversation,likethekindofconversationsMousehadwithherfather,thekindwherehetalkedback.Butthatwasonlypretend.Becausetherewasnowaytoknowwhathermothersaidback,butitmadeMousefeellessalone.
ForawhileMousefeltsatisfiedknowingherstomachhadfood,thoughthreebuttercookieswashardlythesamethingasdinner.Mouseknewthosecookieswouldn’tholdheroffforlong.Butfornow,atleast,shewascontent.
Fornow,shecouldsleep.
SADIE
“Howareyoufeeling?”Willleansovermeandasks.
“Notgood,”Itellhim,stilltastingvomitinmymouth.
Hetellsmetosleepin,thathe’llcallmeinsicktowork,anddrivetheboystoschool.Hesitsontheedgeofthebed,strokingmyhair,andIwanttotellhimaboutthewashcloth.ButIcan’tsayanythingtoWillwhenthekidsarejustdownthehallgettingreadyforschool.Throughouropendoor,Iseethemmoveinandoutofthebedrooms,thebathroom.
Butthenamomentcomeswhenthey’reallintheirbedrooms,outofearshot,andIthinkthatI’llcomerightoutandsayit.
“Will,”Isay,thewordsonmylips,butthen,justlikethat,Tatecomesscamperingintothebedroom,askingWilltohelphimfindhisfavoritesocks.Willgrabshimbythehand,catcheshimbeforehehasachancetojumponthebed.
“What?”Willasks,turningtowardme.
Ishakemyhead,tellhim,“Nevermind.”
“Yousure?”heasks.
“Yes,”Isay.
TogetherWillandTategotoleave,toheadtoTate’sbedroominsearchofthemissingsocks.Willglancesoverhisshoulderasheleaves,tellsmetosleepaslongasIcan.Hepullsthedoorclosedbehindhimself.
I’lltellWilllater.
IhearWill,Otto,TateandImogenmovingaboutinthehouse.FromupstairsIhearordinary,everydayconversationsensueaboutham-and-cheesesandwichesandhistorytests.Theirwordscometomethroughthefloorvents.Tatetossesoutariddle,andbyGod,it’sImogenwhoanswersit,Imogenwhoknowsthatintheone-storybluehousewhereeverythingisblue—bluewalls,bluefloor,bluedeskandchairs—thestairsarenotbluebecausetherearenostairs.
“Howdidyouknow?”Tateasksher.
“Ijustknew.”
“That’sagoodone,TaterTot,”Willdeclares,hisnicknameforTate,ashetellshimtofindhisbackpackbeforethey’relateforschool.
Thewindoutsideisferocious.Itflogstheclapboardsiding,threateningtotearitrightoffthehouse.It’scoldinthehousenow,thekindofcoldthatgetsundertheskin.Ican’twarmup.
“Let’sgetgoing,guys,”Willcalls,andIrisefromthebedandstandatthedoor,listeningasTatenosesaroundthecoatclosetforhishatandboots.IhearImogen’svoiceinthefoyerwiththem.Sheisridingalongtotheferrywiththem,andIdon’tknowwhy.Maybeit’sonlytheweather’sdoing,butIcan’thelpbutnoticetheironyofit.She’llletWilldrivehertotheferry,butnotme.
SuddenlyallIhearisfeet,liketherushofanimals,beforethefrontdooropensandthenclosesagain,andthehouseisnearlystill.Theonlysoundsarethewhistlingofthefurnace,therushofwaterthroughpipes,thewindscourgingtheoutsideofourhome.
It’sonlyafterthey’regonethatIrisefrombedandleavetheroom.I’veonlyjuststeppedintothehallwaywhensomethingcatchesmyeye.Twothingsactually,thoughit’sthedoll’smarble-likeeyesthatgetmyattentionfirst.It’sthesamedollofTate’sthatIfoundinthefoyertheotherday,theonehecarriedroughlytohisroomatWill’srequest.
She’sperchedattheedgeofthehallwaywherethewoodenfloormeetsthewall.Shesitsnicelyonherbum,wearingfloralleggingsandaknitprint.Herfrizzyhairliesoverhershouldersintwoneatbraids,handssetinherlap.Someonehasfoundhermissingshoe.
Besidethedoll’sfeetisapencilandpaper.Igotoit,reachingforthescrapofpaper.
Ibracemyself,knowingwhatitisbeforeIlook.Iturnthepaperoverinmyhand,seeingexactlywhatIexpectedtoseeontheotherside.Thesamecrying,dismemberedbodyasonthedrawingsIfoundintheattic.Besidethedismemberedbody,anangrywomanclutchesaknife.Charcoalblobsfillintheexcesswhitespace,tearsorblood,thoughIdon’tknowwhich.Maybeboth.
IwonderifthesewerehereearlythismorningwhenIcarriedthelaundrydown.Butitwasdarkthen;Iwouldn’thaveseeniftheywere.Andonthewaybackup,Iwasnauseous,runningtothetoilet,barelygettingthereintime.Iwouldn’thavenoticedthemtheneither.
IwonderifWillsawthesethingsbeforeheleft.Butthedollhe’llhaveassumedwasTate’sandthedrawingswereupsidedown.Hewouldn’thaveseenthecontent.
Thesethingsterrifyme,becauseIthinkthatiftheydobelongtoOtto,heisregressing.It’sadefensemechanism,awaytocope.Takingonchildishbehaviortoavoidfacingaproblemhead-on.Myowntherapistusedtosaythisaboutme,tellingmeIactedlikeachildattimeswhenIdidn’twanttotackleadultissuesinmylife.PerhapsOttoisdoingtheverysamething.Butwhy?Onthesurfaceheseemshappyenough.Buthe’sthequiettype;Ineverknowwhat’sgoingoninsidehismind.
Ithinkbackonthattherapistofmine.Iwasneververyfondofher.Ididn’tlikethewayshemademefeelsillyandsmall,thewayshedenigratedmewhenIexpressedmyfeelings.Itwasn’tjustthat.Shealsoconfusedmewithotherpatients.
OnceIsankdownintoherleatherswivelarmchairandcrossedmylegs,tookasipofthewatershealwaysleftonthetableforme.Sheaskedwhathadbeenhappeninglately,inthatwayshealwaysdid.Tellmewhat’sbeenhappening.BeforeIcouldreply,shebegantocounselmeonhowtosevertieswithsomemarriedmanIwasseeing,thoughIwasn’tseeingamarriedman.Iwasmarriedalready.ToWill.
Iblanchedinembarrassmentforherotherclient,theonewhosesecretsshe’djustshared.
Thereisnomarriedman,Iexplained.
Sheasked,No?Youbrokeitoffalready?
Therewasneveramarriedman.
Istoppedseeinghersoonafter.
OttohadatherapistbackinChicago.Wesworewe’dpickupthetherapywhenwemovedtoMaine.Weneverdid.ButIthinkit’stimewedo.
Isteppastthedoll.Igodownstairs.Itakethedrawingwithme.
AplateofFrenchtoastsitsonthekitchencounter.Thatandapotofcoffee,keepinghotonthecoffeemaker’swarmingplate.IhelpmyselftothecoffeebutIcan’tbringmyselftoeatathing.AsIliftthemugtomylips,myhandstremble,castingwavesacrossthecoffee.
BesidetheplateofFrenchtoastisanote.Feelbetter,itreads,withWill’ssignatureclosing,theever-presentXo.He’ssetmypillsoutforme.Ileavethemwheretheyare,notwantingtotakethemuntilI’vegottensomefoodinsideofme.
Outthekitchenwindow,Iseethedogs.Willmusthaveletthemoutsidebeforeheleft,whichisfine.They’resnowdogs—huskies—intheirelementinweatherlikethis.It’dbenearlyimpossibletogetthembackinbeforethey’rereadytocome.
Inthebackyard,thewindbeatsthroughthenakedtrees,makingtheirlimbsbend.It’ssnowing,aheavysnow.Ihadn’texpectedsomuch.I’msurprisedthatschoolwasn’tcanceledtoday.ButI’malsogratefulforitbecauseIneedthistimealone.
Thesnowdoesn’tfallvertically,becauseofthewind.Itfallssidewaysinstead,withabandon,forgingsnowdriftsacrosstheyard.Thesillofthekitchenwindowbeginstocollectwithsnow,buryingmealiveinside.Ifeeltheweightofitonmychest.It’shardertobreathe.
Itakeacarefulsipofthecoffee,noticingthatthependantnecklaceIleftonthecounterearlythismorningisgone.Isearchthefloor,behindthecanisters,thejunkdrawerwherewekeeprandomthings.Thenecklaceisnowhere.Someonehastakenit.IpictureitlyingtherehowIleftit,thedaintychaincoiledintoamoundwiththeMontop.
Thefactthatit’snowmissingonlyaddstomysuspicion.ThismorningwhileIlayinbed,thefourofthem—Will,Otto,TateandImogen—wereinthekitchentogether.ItwouldhavebeensoeasyforImogentoslipthatnecklacefromthecountertopwhennoonewaslooking.IconsiderthethreateningnotesMorganreceived.WouldImogenhavesentthose?Why,Iwonderatfirst,andthenjustasquickly:Whynot?IthinkofthewayImogentreatsme.Thewayshescaresme.Ifshecoulddothistome,shecouldjustaseasilydoittoMorgan.
Ileavethedrawingwhereitisandcarrymycoffeetothelaundryroom.ThereIseethatthismorning,afterIwentbacktobed,Willfinishedthelaundryforme.ThepilesofclothesIleftaregone.They’vebeenreplacedinsteadwithanemptylaundrybasketandacleantilefloor.
Idroptomyhandsandkneesbesidethewashingmachine,lookingbeneath,gratefultofindthebloodstainedwashclothstillthere,andyetjustashorrifiedasIwasatseeingitforthefirsttime.Alltheemotionscomerushingbacktome,andIknowthatIhavetotellWillaboutthis.
Ileavethewashclothwhereitis.Igobacktothekitchentowait.Isitatthetable.Otto’sdrawingsitssixfeetaway,theeyesofthedecapitatedheadstaringatme.Ican’tstandtolookatit.
Iwaituntilnearlynineo’clocktocallWill,knowingthatbythenhe’llhavetakenTatetoschool.He’llhavedroppedhimoff.Hewillbealonebynowandwe’llbeabletospeakinprivate.
WhenWillanswers,he’sontheferry,headingtocampus.
HeaskshowI’mfeelingasheanswersthecall.Itellhim,“Notgood.”Ihearthesoundofthewindwhippingaroundhim,gustingintothehandset.He’soutside,standingontheouterdeckoftheferrygettingpepperedwithsnow.Willcouldbeinsideinthenicelyheatedcabin,butheisn’t.Insteadhe’srelinquishedhisseatindoorsforsomeoneelse,andIthinkthatthisissoclassicWill,tobeselfless.
“Weneedtotalk,Will,”Isay,andthoughhetellsmethatit’sloudontheferry,thatthisisn’tthebesttime,Isayitagain.“Weneedtotalk.”
“CanIcallwhenIgettocampus?”heasks.Willtalksloudlythroughthephone,tryingtocounterthenoiseofthewind.
Isayno.Itellhimthisisimportant.Thatthiscan’twait.
“Whatisit?”heasks,andIcomeoutrightandsaythatIthinkImogenhadsomethingtodowithMorgan’smurder.Hissighislong,exasperated,buthehumorsmenonetheless,askingwhyIthinkthisnow.
“Ifoundabloodywashcloth,Will.Inthelaundry.Completelysaturatedinblood.”
Fromtheotherendofthelinecomesanearsplittingsilence.
Igoon,becausehesaysnothing.Ifeelthewordsrattleinmythroat.Beforeme,myhandshaveturnedsweaty,thoughinsideI’msocoldIshake.ItellhimhowIdiscovereditasIwasdoingthelaundry.HowIfoundthewashclothandhiditbeneaththewashingmachinebecauseIdidn’tknowwhatelsetodowithit.
“Whereisthiswashclothnow?”heasks,concerninhisvoice.
“Stillunderthewashingmachine.Thethingis,Will,I’mthinkingaboutturningthewashclothovertoOfficerBerg.”
“Whoa,”hesays.“Stoprightthere,Sadie.You’renotmakinganysense.Areyousureit’sblood?”
“I’msure.”
Willtriestomakeexcuses.Maybesomeonehadwipedupaspillwithit.Paint,mud,somemessthedogsmade.“Maybedogshit,”hesays,andit’ssounlikeWilltobecrasslikethat.Butperhaps,likeme,he’sscared.“Maybeoneoftheboyscuthimself,”hesuggests,andheremindsmethenofthetimeOttowassmallandranthepadofhisthumbacrosstherazor’ssharpbladejusttoseewhatitwouldfeellike,thoughhehadbeentoldbeforetonevertouchDaddy’srazor.Therazorslicedthroughhisskin.TherewasasurgeofbloodthatOttotriedtohidefromus.Hedidn’twanttogetintrouble.Wefoundbloodstainedtissuespackedinthegarbagecan,aninfectionfesteringdayslateronhisthumb.
“Thisisn’tthesamethingasplayingwithrazors,”ItellWill.“Thisisfardifferentthanthat.Thewashcloth,Will,waswetthroughwithblood.Notafewdropsofblood,butitwasliterallysoaked.Imogenkilledher,”Isaydecisively.“Shekilledherandwipedherselfcleanwiththatwashcloth.”
“Itisn’tfairwhatyou’redoingtoher,Sadie,”hesays,voiceloud,andIdon’tknowifhe’syellingatmeoryellingoverthewind.Buthe’smostdefinitelyyelling.“Thisisawitchhunt,”hesays.
“Morgan’snecklacewashere,too,”Igoon.“Ifounditonthestairs.Isteppedonit.Isetitonthekitchencounterandnowit’sgone.Imogentookittohidetheevidence.”
“Sadie,”hesays.“Iknowyoudon’tlikeher.Iknowshehasn’ttakenkindlytoyou.Butyoucan’tkeepblamingherforeverylittlethingthatgoeswrong.”
Hischoiceofwordsstrikesmeasstrange.Everylittlething.
Murderisnotaninconsequentialthing.
“IfnotImogen,thensomeoneinthishousekilledher,”ItellWill.“That’sagiven.Becausehowelsecanyouexplainhernecklaceonourfloor,thebloodywashclothinthelaundry.Ifnother,thenwho?”Iask,andatfirstthequestionisrhetorical.AtfirstIaskitonlytomakehimseethatofcourseitwasImogenbecausenooneelseinthehouseiscapableofmurder.Ifshediditonce—yankingthatstoolfrombeneathhermother’sfeet—shecoulddoitagain.
Butthen,inthesilencethatfollows,myeyescometolandonOtto’sangrydrawingwiththedecapitatedheadandtheblobsofblood.Thefactthathe’sregressedtoplayingwithdolls.AndIthinkofthewaymyfourteen-year-oldsoncarriedaknifetoschool.
Idrawinasuddenbreath,wonderingifImogenisn’ttheonlyoneinthishousewhoiscapableofmurder.Idon’tmeanforthethoughttoleavemyhead.Andyetitdoes.
“CouldithavebeenOtto?”Ithinkaloud,wishingassoonasthewordsareoutthatIcouldtakethemback,putthembackinmyheadwheretheybelong.
“Youcan’tbeserious,”Willsays,andIdon’twanttobeserious.Idon’twanttobelieveforasecondthatOttocoulddothis.Butitisn’toutsidetherealmofpossibility.Becausethesameargumentringstrue:ifhediditonce,hecoulddoitagain.
“ButwhataboutOtto’shistoryofviolence?”Iask.
“Notahistoryofviolence,”Willinsists.“Ottoneverhurtanyone,remember?”
“Buthowdoyouknowhewouldn’thave,ifhehadn’tbeencaughtfirst?Ifthatstudenthadn’tturnedhimin,howdoyouknowhewouldn’thavehurthisclassmates,Will?”
“Wecan’tknowwhathewouldhavedone.ButI’dliketobelieveoursonisn’takiller,”Willsays.“Wouldn’tyou?”
Willisright.Ottoneverhurtanyofthosekidsbackathisoldhighschool.Buttheintentwasthere.Themotive.Aweapon.Heveryintentionallytookaknifetoschool.There’snotellingwhathemighthavedoneifhisplanhadn’tbeenthwartedintime.“Howcanyoubesosure?”
“BecauseIwanttobelieveonlythebestaboutourson.BecauseIwon’tletmyselfthinkOttocouldtakeanotherlife,”hesays,andI’movercomewiththestrangestcombinationoffearandguiltthatIdon’tknowwhichprevails.AmImorescaredthatOttohasmurderedawoman?OrdoIfeelmoreguiltyforallowingmyselftothinkthis?
ThisismysonI’mspeakingof.Ismysoncapableofmurder?
“Don’tyouknowthat,Sadie?DoyoureallybelieveOttocoulddothis?”heasks,andit’smysilencethatgetsthebestofhim.Myunknowingness.Mysilentadmissionthat,yes,IdothinkmaybeOttocouldhavedonethis.
Willbreathesoutloudly,feathersruffled.Hiswordsareclipped.“WhatOttodid,Sadie,”Willsays,wordsrazor-sharp,“isafarcryfrommurder.He’sfourteen,forGod’ssake.He’sakid.Heactedinself-defense.Hestoodupforhimselftheonlywayheknewhow.You’rebeingirrational,Sadie.”
“ButwhatifI’mnot?”Iask.
Will’sresponseisimmediate.“Butyouare,”hesays.“WhatOttodidwasstandupforhimselfwhennooneelsewould.”
HestopstherebutIknowhewantstosaymore.HewantstotellmethatOttotookmattersintohisownhandsbecauseofme.BecauseeventhoughOttotoldmeabouttheharassment,Ididn’tintervene.BecauseIwasn’tlistening.Therewasahotlineattheschool.Abullyinghotline.Icouldhavecalledandleftananonymouscomplaint.Icouldhavecalledateacherortheschoolprincipalandmadeanot-so-anonymouscomplaint.ButinsteadIdidnothing;Iignoredhim,evenifunintentionally.
Willhasyettocallmeoutonthis.AndyetIseeitthereintheunspokenwords.Silently,he’scastigatingme.Hethinksit’smyfaultOttotookthatknifetoschoolbecauseIdidn’tofferamorereasonablealternative,amoreappropriatealternativeforourfourteen-year-oldson.
Ottoisn’tamurderer.Hewouldneverhavehurtthosekids,Idon’tthink.
He’satroubledboy,ascaredboy.
There’sadifference.
“I’mscared,Will,”Iadmit,andhesays,voicesoftening,“Iknowyouare,Sadie.Webothare.”
“Ihavetoturnthewashclothintothepolice,”Itellhim,voicecracking,onthevergeoftears,andonlythendoesWillrelent.Becauseofthetoneofmyvoice.HeknowsaswellasIthatI’vebecomediscomposed.“Itisn’trightforustokeepit.”
“Allright,then,”hesays.“AssoonasIgettocampusI’llcancelmyclasses.Givemeanhour,Sadie,andthenI’llbehome.Don’tdoanythingwiththewashclothuntilthen,”hepleads,beforehisvoicetakesonadifferenttone,asoftertone,andhesays,“We’llgoseeOfficerBergtogether.JustwaituntilIgethomeandwe’llspeaktoOfficerBergtogether.”
Iendthecallandmoveintothelivingroomtowait.Idropdownontothemarigoldsofa.Istretchmylegsbeforeme,thinkingthatifIclosemyeyes,Iwillsleep.Theweightofworryandfatiguecomebearingdownonme,andsuddenlyI’mtired.Myeyessinkshut.
BeforeIcanfallasleep,theyboltopenagain.
Thesoundofthefrontdoorstartlesme.Itshiftsinitscasing,gettingjostledaround.
It’sonlythewindblowingagainstit,agitatingthedoor,Itellmyself.
Butthencomesthesoundofakeyjigglinginthelock.
It’sonlybeenafewminutessinceWillandIhungupthephone.Nomorethantenorfifteen.Hewouldhavescarcelyreachedthemainlandbynow,muchlesswaitedforpassengerstodisembarkandthenboardtheboat.Hewouldn’thavehadtimetomakethetwenty-minutecommutebackacrossthebay,ordrivehomefromtheferrydock.
It’snotWill.
Someoneelseishere.
Iinchmyselfawayfromthedoor,searchingforaplacetohide.ButbeforeI’vegoneasteportwo,thedoorpressesviolentlyopen.Itricochetsofftherubberstopperontheotherside.
There,standinginthefoyer,isOtto.Hisbackpackisslungacrossashoulder.Hishairiscoveredwithsnow.It’swhitewithit.Hischeeksarerosyandredfromthecoldoutside.Thetipofhisnoseisalsored.Everythingelseispallid.
Ottoslamsthedoorshut.
“Otto,”Ibreatheoutmidstride,pressingmyhandtomychest.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iask,andhesays,“I’msick.”Hedoeslookpeakedtome,yes.ButI’mnotcertainhelookssick.
“Theschooldidn’tcall,”Itellhimbecausethisisthewayit’ssupposedtohappen.TheschoolnurseissupposedtocallandtellmemysonissickandthenIgototheschoolandpickhimup.Butthisisn’twhathappened.
“Thenursejustsentyouhome?”Iask,feelingcrossatherforallowingachildtowalkoffcampusinthemiddleoftheschoolday,butalsoscared.BecausethelookonOtto’sfaceisalarming.Heshouldn’tbehere.Whyishehere?
Hisreplyisoffhand.Hetakesastepintotheroom.“Ididn’task,”hesays.“Ijustleft.”
“Isee,”Isay,feelingmyfeetinchbackward.
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”heasks.“ItoldyouIwassick.Youdon’tbelieveme?”Itisn’tlikeOttotobeantagonisticwithme.
Ottostaresatmewithhisjawclenched,chinforward.Herunshisfingersthroughhishair,thenjamsthemintothepocketsofhisjeans.
“Whatdoesn’tfeelgood?”Iask,alumpforminginthepitofmystomach.
Ottomovesanotherstepcloserandsays,“Mythroat,”thoughhisvoiceisn’traspy.Hedoesn’tclutchahandtohisthroatasonedoeswhenithurts.
Butit’sconceivable,ofcourse.Histhroatcouldhurt.Hecouldbetellingthetruth.Strepthroatisgoingaround,asistheflu.
“Yourfatherisonhiswayhome,”Iforceout,thoughIdon’tknowwhy.
“No,he’snot,”hesays,voicechillinglycomposed.“Dad’satwork.”
“Hecanceledhisclasses,”Isay,shamblingbackward.“He’scominghome.Heshouldbeheresoon.”
“Why?”Ottoasksas,inmysubtleretreat,Ibumpsoftlyintothefireplacemantel.
Ilie,tellingOttothatWillalsodidn’tfeelwell.“Hewasturningaroundjustassoonashisferryreachedthemainland.”Iglanceattheclockandsay,“Anyminute,heshouldbehome.”
“No,hewon’t,”Ottosaysagain.It’sirrefutablethewaythathesaysit.
Isuckinabreath,releaseitslowly.“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.
“Ferriesaredelayed’causeofthestorm,”hetellsme,thrustingthathairofhisbackagainwithahand.
“How’dyougethome?”Iask.
“Minewasthelasttoleave.”
“Oh,”Isay,thinkingofOttoandmetrappedtogetherinthishouseuntilferrytrafficresumes.Howlongwillthattake?IwonderwhyWillhasn’tcalledtotellmeabouttheferries,thoughmyphoneisintheotherroom.Iwouldn’thavehearditifhedid.
Agustofwindrattlesthehousejustthen,makingthewholethingshake.Asitdoes,thelampontheendtableflickers.Iholdmybreath,waitingfortheroomtogodark.There’sameageramountoflightcomingthroughthewindows,butastheyfillwithsnowitgetshardertosee.Theworldoutsideturnsacharcoalgray.Thedogsbark.
“Doyouwantmetolookatyourthroat?”IaskOtto.Whenhedoesn’treply,Iretrievemypenlightfrommybaginthefoyerandgotohim.StandingbesideOtto,Iseehowhe’ssurpassedmeinheightnearlyovernight.Helooksdownonmenow.Heisn’theavilybuilt.Rather,he’slanky.Hesmellsofteenageboy:allthosehormonestheysecreteintheirsweatduringpuberty.Buthe’shandsome,thespittingimageofWill,justyoungerandthinner.
Ireachupandpressmyfingerstohislymphnodes.They’reenlarged.Hemightbesick.
“Openup,”Itellhim,andthoughhehesitates,hecomplies.Ottoopenshismouth.It’slazyatbest,justbarelyenoughformetoseeinside.
Ishinemypenlightin,seeingared,irritatedthroat.Ipressthebackofmyhandtohisforehead,feelingforafever.AsIdo,Ifeelasuddenrushofnostalgia,bringingmebacktoafour-orafive-year-oldOtto,sickasadogwiththeflu.Insteadofahand,itusedtobemylips,afarmoreaccuratemeasureoftemperaturetome.OnequickkissandIcouldtellifmyboyswerefebrileornot.Thatandthewaythey’dlielimpandhelplessinmyarms,wantingtobecoddled.Thosedaysaregone.
AllatonceOtto’sstronghandlatchesdownonmywristandIjerkimmediatelyback.
Hisgraspisstrong.Ican’tfreemyselffromhishold.
Thepenlightdropsfrommyhand,batteriesskiddingacrossthefloor.
“Whatareyoudoing,Otto?Letgoofme,”Icryout,tryingdesperatelytowigglefreefromhisgrasp.“You’rehurtingme,”Itellhim.Hisgripistight.
Ilookuptofindhiseyeswatchingme.They’remorebrownthanbluetoday,moresadthanmad.Ottospeaks,hiswordsnothingmorethanawhisper.“I’llneverforgiveyou,”hesays,andIstopfighting.
“Forwhat,Otto?”Ibreathe,stillthinkingaboutthewashclothandthenecklace,asagainthelightsinthehomeflickerandIholdmybreath,waitingforthemtogoout.Myeyesmovetoalamp,wishingIhadsomethingtoprotectmyselfwith.Thelamphasabeautifulglazedceramicbase,sturdy,solidenoughtododamagebutnotsoheavythatIcan’tpickitup.Butit’ssixfeetawaynow,outofreach,andIdon’tknowthatI’dhaveitinmeanyway,toclutchthelampbytheneckandbashtheheavyendintomyownson’shead.Eveninself-defense.Idon’tknowthatIcould.
Otto’sAdam’sapplebobsinhisthroat.“Youknow,”hesays,fightingbacktheurgetocry.
Ishakemyheadandsay,“Idon’tknow,”thoughIrealizeinthenextmomentthatIdo.He’llneverforgivemefornotstandingupforhimthatdayintheprincipal’soffice.Fornotcomplyingwithhislie.
“Forlying,”hehollers,composurewaning,“abouttheknife.”
“Ineverlied,”Itellhim.WhatIwanttosayisthathe’stheonewholied,butitdoesn’tseemasmarttimetolayblame.Instead,“Ifonlyyou’dhavecometome.Icouldhavehelpedyou,Otto.Wecouldhavetalkeditthrough.Wecouldhavecomeupwithasolution.”
“Idid,”heinterjects,voicequivering.“Ididcometoyou.You’retheonlyoneItold,”andItrynottoimagineOttoopeninguptomeaboutwhatwashappeningatschoolandmegivinghimthebrush-off.Istruggletorememberit,asIhaveeverydayandnightsinceithappened.WhatwasIdoingwhenOttotoldmeaboutthebullying?WhatwasIsobusydoingthatIcouldn’tpayattentionwhenheconfessedtomethatkidsatschoolcalledhimheinousnames;thattheyshovedhimintolockers,plungedhisheadintodirtytoiletbowls?
“Otto,”Isayundermybreath,fullofshamefornotbeingtherewhenOttoneededmemost.“IfIwasn’tlistening.IfIwasn’tpayingattention.I’msosorry,”Itellhim,andIstarttotellhimhowIwascompletelyinundatedwithworkinthosedays,tiredandoverwhelmed.Butthat’slittleconsolationtoafourteen-year-oldboywhoneededhismother.Idon’tmakeexcusesformybehavior.Itwouldn’tfeelright.
BeforeIcansaymore,Ottoisspeaking,andforthefirsttimetherearedetailsI’veneverheardbefore.Howwewereoutsidewhenhetoldmeaboutthebullying.Howitwaslateatnight.HowOttocouldn’tsleep.Hecamelookingforme.Hetellsmehefoundmeoutsideonourbuilding’sfireescape,justoutsidethekitchenwindow,dressedinallblack,smokingacigarette.
Thedetails,they’reludicrous.
“Idon’tsmoke,Otto,”Itellhim.“Youknowthat.Andheights.”Ishakemyhead,shuddering.Idon’tneedtosaymore;heknowswhatImean.I’macrophobic.I’vealwaysbeen.
WelivedonthesixthfloorofourcondoinChicago,thetopfloorofaPrintersRowmidrise.Inevertooktheelevator,onlythestairs.IneversteppedfootonthebalconywhereWillspenthismorningssippingcoffeeandenjoyingthesweepingcityviews.Comewithme,Willusedtosay,smilingmischievouslywhiletuggingonmyhand.I’llkeepyousafe.Don’tIalwayskeepyousafe?heasked.ButIneverwentwithhim.
“Butyouwere,”Ottoclaims,andIask,“HowdidyouknowIwasthereifitwasthemiddleofthenight?Howdidyouseeme?”
“Theflame.Fromthecigarettelighter.”
ButIdon’townacigarettelighter.BecauseIdon’tsmoke.ButIgoquietanyway.Ilethimgoon.
Ottosaysthatheclimbedoutthewindowandsatbesideme.It’dtakenhimweekstoworkupthecouragetocomeandtellme.OttosaysIwentballisticwhenhetoldmewhatthekidsweredoingtohimatschool.ThatIwastotallyworkedup
“Weplottedrevenge.Wemadealistofthebestways.”
“Thebestwaysforwhat?”Iask.
Hesaysitunambiguously,likeit’sthemostobviousthingintheworld.“Thebestwaytokillthem,”hesays.
“Who?”
“Thekidsatschool,”hetellsme.Becauseeventhekidsthatdidn’tmockhimstilllaughed.Andso,heandIdecidedthatnightthattheyallneededtogo.Iblanch.IhumorhimonlybecauseIthinkthatthisiscatharticsomehowforOtto.
“Andhowwerewegoingtodothat?”Iask,notcertainIwanttoknowthewaysheandIsupposedlycameupwithtokillhisclassmates.Becausethey’reOtto’sideas,everylastoneofthem.AndIwanttobelievethatsomewhereinsideofhimisstillmyson.
Heshrugshisshouldersandsays,“Idunno.Awholebunchofways.Wetalkedaboutstartingtheschoolonfire.Usinglighterfluidorgasoline.YousaidIcouldpoisonthecafeteriafood.Wetalkedaboutthatforawhile.Forawhilethatseemedlikethewaytogo.Takeoutawholebunchofthematonce.”
“Howdidweplantodothat?”Iaskashegrowslaxandhishandlosesitsgriponmywrist.Itrytopullfree,butjustlikethat,hereengages,clingingtightertome.
Hisanswerissosure.“Botox,”hesayswithanothershrug.“Yousaidyoucouldgetit.”
Botox.Botulinumtoxin.Whichwestockedatthehospitalbecauseittreatsmigraines,symptomsofParkinson’sdisease,andahostofotherconditions.Butitcanbefatal,too.It’soneofthedeadliestsubstancesintheworld.
“Orstabbingthemall,”hesays,tellingmehowwe’ddecidedthatwasthebestwaybecausehedidn’thavetowaitforpoison,andaknifewaseasiertohideinhisbackpackthanbottlesoflighterfluid.Hecoulddoitrightaway.Theverynextday.
“Wewentinside,”Ottoremindsme.“Remember,Mom?Weclimbedbackinthewindowandwenttolookoveralltheknives,toseewhichwouldbebest.Youdecided,”hetellsme,explaininghowIchosethechefknifebecauseofitssize.
AccordingtoOtto,IthentookoutWill’swhetstoneandsharpenedtheknife.Isaidsomethingcannyabouthowasharpknifeissaferthanadullone,beforesmilingathim.ThenIslippeditinhisbackpackinthesoftlaptopsleeve,behindallofhisotherbelongings.AsIzippedthebackpackclosed,Iwinkedathim.
Youdon’thavetoworryaboutgettinganorgan,OttosaysthatIsaid.Anyoldarterywilldo.
Mystomachroilsatthethoughtofit.Myfreehandrisestomymouthasbileinchesupmyesophagus.Iwanttoscream,No!Thathe’swrong.ThatIneversaidsuchathing.Thathe’smakingthisallup.
ButbeforeIcanreply,OttoistellingmethatbeforehewenttobedthatnightIsaidtohim,Don’tletanyonelaughatyou.Youshutthemupiftheydo.
ThatnightOttosleptbetterthanhehadinalongtime.
Butthenextmorning,hehadsecondthoughtsaboutit.Hewassuddenlyscared.
ButIwasn’ttheretotalkitthrough.I’dgoneintoworkfortheday.Hecalledme.ThatIremember,avoicemailonmyphonethatIdidn’tdiscoveruntillaterthatnight.Mom,he’dsaid.It’sme.Ireallyneedtotalktoyou.
ButbythetimeIheardthevoicemail,itwasdone.Ottohadtakenthatknifetoschool.BythegraceofGod,noonewashurt.
ListeningtoOttospeak,Irealizeonegut-wrenchingtruth.Hedoesn’tthinkthathe’smadethisstoryup.Hebelievesit.Inhismind,Iamtheonewhopackedtheknifeinhisbackpack;Iamtheonewholied.
Ican’thelpmyself.Ireachupwithmyonefreehandandtracehisjawline.Hisbodystiffensbuthedoesn’tretreat.Heletsmetouchhim.Thereishairthere,onlyasmallpatchofitthatwillonedaygrowtoabeard.HowdidthelittleboywhooncelaceratedhisthumbonthebladeofWill’srazorgrowoldenoughtoshave?Hishairhangsinhiseyes.Ibrushitback,seeingthathiseyeslackallthehostilitytheyusuallyhave,butareinsteaddrowninginpain.
“IfIhurtyouinanyway,”Iwhisper,“I’msorry.Iwouldneverdoanythingtointentionallyhurtyou.”
Onlythendoesheacquiesce.HeletsgoofmywristandIstepquicklyback.
“Whydon’tyougoliedowninyourroom,”Isuggest.“I’llbringyoutoast.”
“I’mnothungry,”Ottogrunts.
“Howaboutjuice,then?”
Heignoresme.
Iwatch,gratefulthatheturnsandlumbersupthestairstohisbedroom,backpackstillclingingtohisback.
Igotothefirst-floorstudyandclosethedoor.Ihurrytothecomputeronthedeskandopenthebrowser.Igotolookupthewebsitetotheferrycompanytosearchfornewsondelays.I’manxiousforWilltobehome.IwanttotellhimaboutmyconversationwithOtto.Iwanttogotothepolice.Idon’twanttowaitanymoretodothesethings.
Ifitwasn’tfortheweather,I’dleave.TellOttoI’mrunningoutonanerrandandnotcomebackuntilWillishere.
AsIbegintotypeinthebrowser,ahistoryofpastinternetsearchesgreetsme
Mybreathleavesme.BecauseErinSabine’snameisinthesearchhistory.SomeonehasbeenlookingupWill’sformerfiancée.Will,Iassume,feelingnostalgiconthetwenty-yearanniversaryofherdeath.
Ihavenoself-control.Iclickonthelink.
Imagesgreetme.Anarticle,too,areportfromtwentyyearsagoonErin’sdeath.Therearephotographsincludedinthearticle.Oneisofacarbeingexcavatedfromanicypond.Emergencycrewshoversolemnlyinthebackgroundwhileawreckertrucklugsthecarfromthewater.Ireadthroughthearticle.It’sjustasWilltoldme.Erinlostcontrolofhercarinawickedwinterstormliketheonewe’rehavingtoday;shedrowned.
ThesecondimageisofErinwithherfamily.Therearefourofthem:amother,afather,ErinandayoungersisterwholookstomesomewhereinbetweenOtto’sandTate’sages.Ten,maybeeleven.Thephotographisprofessional-looking.Thefamilyisinastreetbetweenanavenueoftrees.Themothersitsonagarishyellowchairthat’sbeenplacedthereforpurposesofthisphotograph.Herfamilystandsaroundher,thegirlsleaningintotheirmotherindulgently.
It’sthemotherIcan’ttakemyeyesoffof.There’ssomethingaboutherthatnagsatme,aroundwomanwithshoulder-lengthbrunettehair.Somethingstrikesachord,butIdon’tknowwhat.Somethingthathoversjustoutoftheperipheryofmymind.Whoisshe?
Thedogsbegintohowljustthen.Ihearitallthewayfromhere.They’vefinallyhadenoughofthisstorm.Theywanttocomeinside.
Irisefromthedesk.Iletmyselfoutofthestudy,paddingquicklytothekitchen,whereIyankopenthebackdoor.Istepoutside,ontothedeck,hissingtothedogstocome.Buttheydon’tcome.
Imoveacrosstheyard.Thedogsarebothfrozenlikestatuesinthecorner.They’vecaughtsomething,arabbitorasquirrel.Ihavetostopthembeforetheyeatthepoorthing,andinmymind’seyeIseethewhitesnowriddledwithanimalblood.
Theyardiscoveredinsnowdrifts.Theyriseafoothighinsomespots,thegrassbarelyfleckedwithsnowinothers.ThewindtrieshardtopushmedownasItrekthroughtheyard,makingmywayouttothedogs.Thepropertyislarge,andthey’refaraway,pawingatsomething.Iclapmyhandsandcalltothemagain,butstilltheydon’tcome.Thesnowblowssideways.Itgustsupthelegofmypajamapantsandintothenecklineofmyshirt.Myfeet,coveredinslippersalone,achefromthebittercold.Ididn’tthinktoputshoesonbeforeIcameoutside.
It’shardtoseemuchofanything.Thetrees,thehouses,thehorizondisappearinthesnow.Ifindithardtoopenmyeyes.Ithinkofthekidsstillinschool.Howwilltheygethome?
Halfwaytothedogs,Ithinkaboutturningaround.Idon’tknowthatIhaveitinmetomakeitallthewaythere.Iclapagain;Icalltothem.Theydon’tcome.IfWillwashere,theywouldcome.
Iforcemyselftogoon.Ithurtstobreathe;theairissocolditburnsmythroatandlungs.
ThedogsbarkagainandIrunthelasttwentyfeettothem.TheylooksheepishlyatmeasIcome,andIexpecttofindahalf-eatencadaverlyingbetweentheirfeet.
Ireachout,grabbingaholdofoneofthegirls’collarsandpulling,saying,“Comeon,let’sgo,”notcaringifthere’samaimedsquirrelthere,butjustneedingtobebackinside.Butshejuststandsthere,whiningatme,refusingtocome.She’smuchtoobigformetolugallthewayhome.Itry,butasIdoIstaggerfromtheweightofher,losingbalance.Ifallforwardtomyhandsandkneeswherethere,beforeme,betweenthedogs’paws,somethingsparklesinthesnow.It’snotarabbit.It’snotasquirrel.It’smuchtoosmalltobearabbitorasquirrel.
Andthenthere’stheshapeofit,longandslenderandsharp.
Myheartraces.Myfingerstingle.Theblackspecksreturn,dancingbeforemyeyes.IfeellikeIcouldbesick.AndthensuddenlyIam.Onmyhandsandknees,Iretchintothesnow.Mydiaphragmcontractsbutit’sadryheaveonly.I’vehadnothingtoeatbutafewsipsofcoffee.Mystomachisempty.There’snothingtheretocomebackup.
Oneofthedogsnudgesmewithhernose.Ilatchontoher,steadyingmyself,seeingplainlythattheobjectbetweenthedogs’feetisaknife.Themissingboningknife.Thebloodonitiswhat’spiquedthedogs’interest.Thebladeoftheknifeisapproximatelysixincheslong,sameastheonethatkilledMorganBaines.
Besidetheknifesitsaholethatthedogshavecarvedintotheearth.
Thedogsdugupthisknife.Thisknifewasburiedinourbackyard.Allthistime,they’vebeendiggingintothebackyardtounearththisknife.
Iglancequicklybacktothehouse.ThoughinrealityIseenothing,justbarelythesoftenedperipheryofthehouseitself,IimagineOttostandingatthekitchenwindow,watchingme.Ican’tgohome.
Ileavethedogswheretheyare.Ileavetheknifewhereitis.Idon’ttouchit.Ilimpacrosstheyard.Myfeettinglefromthecold,losingfeeling.Itmakesithardforthemtomove.Ilumberaroundthesideofthehouse,missingmyfootingbecauseofmyfrozenfeet.Ifallintosnowdriftsandthenforcemyselfbackup.
It’saquarter-milehiketothebottomofourhill.That’swherethetownandthepublicsafetybuildingarelocated,whereI’llfindOfficerBerg.
Willsaidtowait.ButIcannolongerwait.
There’snotellingwhattimeWillwillbehome,orwhatmayhappentomebythetimeheis.
Thestreetisbarrenandbleak.It’ssaturatedinwhite.There’snooneherebutme.Ishambledownthehill,noseoozingwithsnot.Iwipeitawaywithasleeve.I’mwearingonlypajamas,notacoatorahat.Notgloves.Thepajamasdonothingtokeepmewarm,toprotectme.Myteethchatter.Icanbarelykeepmyeyesopenbecauseofthewind.Thesnowblowsfromallwayssimultaneously,constantlyairborne,swirlingincircleslikethevortexofatornado.Myfingersfreeze.They’reblotchyandred.Ican’tfeelmyface.
Offinthedistance,thebladeofashovelscrapesasidewalk.
There’sthelittlestbitofhopethatcomeswithit.
ThereissomeoneelseonthisislandbesidesOttoandme.
IgoononlybecauseIhavenochoicebuttogoon.
MOUSE
Inthemiddleofthenight,Mouseheardanoisesheknewwell.
Itwasthesqueakofthestairs,whichhadnoreasontobesqueakingsinceMousewasalreadyinherbed.AsMouseknew,therewasonebedroomonthesecondflooroftheoldhouse.Atnight,aftershewasinbed,therewasnoreasonforanyonetobeupstairsbuther.
Butsomeonewascomingupthestairs.FakeMomwascomingupstairs,andthestairsthemselveswerecallingoutawarningforMouse,tellinghertorun.Tellinghertohide.
ButMousedidn’thaveachancetorunorhide.
Becauseithappenedtoofastandshewasdisorientedfromsleep.Mousebarelyhadtimetoopenhereyesbeforethebedroomdoorpressedopen,andthereFakeMomstood,backlitbythehallwaylight.
Bert,inhercageonthebedroomfloor,emittedapiercingscreech.Sherushedunderhertranslucentdomeforsafety.Theresheheldstilllikeastatue,mistakenlybelievingnoonewouldseeherontheothersideoftheopaqueplastic,solongasshedidn’tmove.
Inherbed,Mousetriedtoholdrealstill,too.
ButFakeMomsawherthere,justasshesawBert.
FakeMomflickedthebedroomlighton.ThebrightnessofitoverpoweredMouse’stired,dilatedeyes,sothatatfirstshecouldn’tsee.Butshecouldhear.FakeMomspoke,hervoicecomposedinawaythatstartledMouseevenmorethanifitwasn’t.Herstepswereslowanddeliberateassheletherselfintotheroom,whenMousewishedshewouldcomerunningin,screaming,andthenleave.Becausethenitwouldbeoverandthrough.
WhatdidItellyouaboutpickingupafteryourself,Mouse?FakeMomasked,comingclosertothebed,steppingpastBertandhercage.ShegrabbedMouse’sbedspreadbytheedgeandtugged,revealingMouseinherunicornpajamasbeneath,theonessheputonwithoutanyonehavingtotellhertoputthemon.BesideMouse,inthebed,wasMr.Bear.Didyouthinkthatpickingupafteryourselfdidn’tmeanflushingatoiletorwipingupafteryoupissallovertheseat,thesameseatthatIhavetositon?
Mouse’sbloodrancold.Shedidn’thavetothinkaboutwhatFakeMomwastalkingabout.Sheknew.Andsheknewtherewasnopointinexplaining,thoughshetriedanyway.Hervoicetrembledasshespoke.ShetoldFakeMomwhathappened.Howshetriedtobequiet.Howshedidn’twanttowakeFakeMomup.Howshedidn’tmeantopeeontheseat.Howshedidn’tflushthetoiletbecausesheknewitwouldbeloud.
ButMousewasnervouswhenshespoke.Shewasscared.Herlittlevoiceshooksothatherwordscameoutunintelligibly.FakeMomdidn’tlikemumbling.ShebarkedatMouse,Speakup!
ThensherolledhereyesandsaidthatMousewasn’tnearlyassmartasherfatherthoughtshewas.
Mousetriedtoexplainagain.Tospeaklouder,toenunciateherwords.Butitdidn’tmatterbecauseFakeMomdidn’twantanexplanation,whetheranaudibleorinaudibleone.Thequestionshe’dasked,Mouserealizedtoolate,wasrhetorical,thekindofquestionthatdoesn’twantanansweratall.
Doyouknowwhathappenswhendogshaveaccidentsinsidethehouse?FakeMomaskedMouse.Mousedidn’tknowforsurewhathappened.She’dneverhadadogbefore,butwhatshethoughtwasthatsomeonecleanedthemessup,andthatwasthat.Itwasdone.BecausethatwasthewayithappenedwithBert.BertwasforeverpoopingandpeeinginMouse’slap,anditwasneverabigdeal.Mousewipeditup,washedherhandsandwentbacktoplayingwithBert.
ButFakeMomwouldn’thaveaskedthequestionifitwasaseasyasthat.
Mousetoldherthatshedidn’tknow.
I’llshowyouwhathappens,FakeMomsaidasshegrabbedMousebythearmandpulledherfrombed.Mousedidn’twanttogowhereFakeMomwantedhertogo.Butshedidn’tobjectbecausesheknewitwouldhurtlessifshejustwentwithFakeMomthanallowingherselftobepulledfrombedanddraggeddownthesqueakystairs.Sothatwaswhatshedid.ExceptthatFakeMomwalkedfasterthanMousecouldwalk,andsoshetripped.Whenshedid,shefellallthewaytothefloor.ItmadeFakeMomangry.Itmadeherscream,Getup!
Mousedid.Theymadetheirwaydownthesteps.Thehousewasmostlydark,buttherewasahintofthenightskycominginthroughthewindows.
FakeMombroughtMouseintothelivingroom.Shebroughthertothecenteroftheroom,turnedherinaspecificdirection.There,inthecorneroftheroom,wastheemptydogcrate,dooropenasitneverwas.
Iusedtohaveadogonce,FakeMomsaid.Aspringerspaniel.InamedhimMax,mostlybecauseIcouldn’tthinkofabettername.Hewasagooddog.Adumbdog,butagooddog.Wetookwalkstogether.Sometimes,whenwe’dwatchTV,he’dsitbymyside.ButthenMaxwentandmadeanaccidentinthecornerofmyhousewhenIwasn’thome,andthatmadeMaxbad,shesaid.
Shewenton.See,wecan’thaveanimalsurinatinganddefecatinginsideourhomes,wherethey’renotsupposedtogo.It’sdirty,Mouse.Doyouunderstandthat?Thebestwaytoteachadogisbycratetraining.Becausethedogdoesn’twanttohavetositwithitsownpissandshitfordays.Andsoitlearnstoholdit.Sameasyoucan,FakeMomsaidasshegrabbedMousebythearmandyankedhertherestofthewayacrossthelivingroomforthatopendogcrate.
Mousefoughtback,butMousewasachild,onlysixyearsold.SheweighedlessthanhalfofwhatFakeMomweighedandshehadnearlynostrengthatall.
Mousehadhadnodinner.OnlythreeSalernoButterCookies.She’sjustbeenwokenfromsleep.Itwasthemiddleofthenightandshewastired.Shewiggledandwrithed,butthatwasthebestshecoulddo,andsoshewaseasilymanhandledbyFakeMom.Shewasforcedintothedogcrate,whichwasnotevenastallasshewaswhenshesatdown.Shecouldn’tevensitallthewayupinsidethecage,andsoherheadrubbedagainstthehardmetalbarsofthecage,herneckkinked.Shecouldn’tliedown,couldn’tstretchoutherlegs.Shehadtokeepthempulledintoher,sothattheywentnumb.
Mousewascrying.Shewasbeggingtobeletout.Promisingtobegood,toneverpeeonthetoiletseatagain.
ButFakeMomwasn’tlistening.
BecauseFakeMomwasmakingherwaybackupstairs.
Mousedidn’tknowwhy.ShethoughtmaybeFakeMomwasgoingbackuptogetherpoorMr.Bear.
ButwhenFakeMomreturnedshedidn’thavethebear.
ShehadBert.
ItmadeMouseshriek,seeinghersweetguineapiginFakeMom’shands.BertneverdidliketobeheldbyanyoneotherthanMouse.ShewaskickinghertinyfeetinFakeMom’sgrasp,squealingherhigh-pitchedsqueal,louderthanMousehadeverheardherbefore.Itwasn’tthesamesquealshemadeforcarrots.Itwasadifferentkindofsqueal.Aterrifiedkindofsqueal.
Mouse’sheartwasbeatingamillionmilesaminute.
Shebeatonthebarsofthatdogcratebutcouldn’tgetout.
Shetriedforcingthedooropenbutitwouldn’tbudgebecausetherewassomesortofpadlockonthatdoor.
Didyouknow,Mouse,thatadullknifeismoredangerousthanasharpone?sheasked,holdingoneofherknivesupintheairtoexaminethebladeinthemoonlight.
Howmanytimes,sheasked,notwaitingforananswertothequestionshe’dalreadyasked,doIhavetotellyouthatIdon’twantonerodentinthishouse,letalonetwo?
Mouseclosedhereyesandpressedherhandstoherearssothatshecouldn’tseeorhearwhatcamenext.
Itwasn’taweekbeforeMouse’sfatherhadanotherworktrip.
HestoodinthedoorwaysayinghisgoodbyesasFakeMomstoodbesideMouse.
I’llonlybegoneforafewdays.I’llbebackbeforeyoucanmissme,herfathersaidashestaredintoMouse’ssadeyes,promisingherthatwhenhegothomethey’dpickoutanewguineapigforher,onetoreplaceBert.HerfatherwasoftheopinionthatBerthadmerelyrunaway,thatshewasgettingherkickssomewhereinthevoidsofthehousewheretheycouldn’tfindher.
Mousedidn’twantanewguineapig.Notthen,notever.AndonlyMouseandFakeMomknewthereasonwhy.
Besideher,FakeMomsqueezedMouse’sshoulder.Shestrokedhermousybrownhairandsaid,We’regoingtogetalongjustfine.Aren’twe,Mouse?Nowsaygoodbyetoyourfathersothathecangoonhistrip.
Mousetearfullysaidgoodbye.
SheandFakeMomstoodbesideeachother,watchingasherfather’scarpulledfromthedriveanddisappearedaroundthebend.
AndthenFakeMomkickedthefrontdoorclosedandturnedonMouse.
SADIE
Thepublicsafetybuildingisasmallbrickbuildinginthecenteroftown.I’mgratefultofindthedoorunlocked,awarm,yellowlightglowingfromtheinside.
Awomansitsbehindthedesk,peckingawayonakeyboardasIletmyselfin.Shestartles,clutchingherbosomwhenthedoorburstsopenandIappear.Onadaysuchasthis,shehadn’texpectedanyonetobeoutside.
Itripoverthedoor’sthresholdonthewayin.Ididn’tseetheone-inchrise.Ifalltomyhandsandkneesjustinsidethedoorway,nothavingitinmetocatchmyselfintime.Thefloorisn’tasyieldingasthesnow;thisfallhurtsfarmorethantheothers.
“Ohdear,”thewomansays,risingquicklytoherfeettocomehelpmetomine.Shenearlyrunsaroundtheedgeofthedeskandreachesformeonthefloor.Hermouthhangsopen,hereyeswidewithsurprise.Shecan’tbelievewhatshe’sseeing.Theroomaroundmeisboxyandsmall.Yellowwalls,carpetedfloors,adoublepedestaldesk.Theairismiraculouslywarm.Aspaceheaterstandsinthecorner,blowingheatedairthroughouttheroom.
I’venosoonerfoundmyfeetthanIgototheheater,droppingtomykneesbeforetheoscillatingfan.
“OfficerBerg,”Ijustmanagetosay,lipssluggishfromthecold.Mybackistothewoman.“OfficerBerg,please.”
“Yes,”shesays,“yes,ofcourse,”andbeforeIknowwhat’shappening,she’sscreamingforhim.Shegraciouslyreachespastmetoturnthespaceheatertoahigherspeed,andIpressmyhandstoit,burningfromthecold.
“There’ssomeoneheretoseeyou,”shesaysuneasily,andIturn.
Whenheappears,OfficerBergsaysnothing.Hewalksquicklybecauseofthescreaming,becauseoftheedgeinhissecretary’svoicethatwarnshimsomethingiswrong.Hetakesinmypajamasashemovespastmeforthecoffeepot.Hefillsadisposablecupwithcoffeeandextendsittomeinanefforttowarmmeup.Hehelpsmerisetomyfeet,pressingthecupintomyhands.Idon’tdrinkit,buttheheatoffthecupfeelsgoodtotouch.Ifeelgratefulforit.Thestormperseveresoutside,theentiretyofthelittlebuildingshudderingattimes.Lightsflicker;thewallswhine.Hereachesforacoatonacoatrackandwrapsmeinit.
“Ihavetospeakwithyou,”Itellhim,thedesperationandfatigueinmyvoicepalpable.
OfficerBergleadsmedownthehall.Wesitsidebysideatasmallexpandabletable.Theroomisbare.
“Whatareyoudoinghere,Dr.Foust?”heasksme,histonethoughtfulandconcerned,butalsoleery.“Heckofadaytobeoutside,”hesays.
Ifindmyselfshakinguncontrollably.ForasmuchasItry,Ican’twarmup.Myhandsarewrappedaroundthecupofcoffee.OfficerBerggivesmeanudgeandtellsmetodrinkup.
Butit’snotthecoldthatmakesmeshake.
Istarttotellhimeverything,butbeforeIcan,OfficerBergsays,“Ireceivedacallfromyourhusbandashortwhileago,”andmywordsgetstuckinmythroat.I’mataloss,wonderingwhyWillcalledhimafterwe’dagreedthatwe’dcomeseehimtogether.
“Youdid?”Iaskinstead,sittingupright,becausethesearen’twordsIexpectedtohear.OfficerBergnodshisheadslowly.Hehasanuncannywayofmaintainingeyecontact.Istrugglenottolookaway.Iask,“Whatdidhewant?”bracingmyselffortheofficer’sreply.
“Hewasworriedaboutyou,”OfficerBergsays,andIfeelmyselfrelax.Willcalledbecausehewasworriedaboutme.
“Ofcourse,”Isay,softeninginthechair.Perhapshetriedtocallmefirst,andwhenIdidn’tanswerthephone,hecalledOfficerBerg.PerhapsheaskedOfficerBergtocheckonmeandseeifIwasallright.“Theweather.Andtheferrydelay.Iwasupsetthelasttimewespoke.”
“Yes,”hesays.“Mr.Fousttoldme.”
Istart,againsittingupright.
“HetoldyouIwasupset?”Iaskonthedefense,becausethisispersonal,notsomethingWillneededtotellthepolice.
Henods.“He’sworriedaboutyou.Hesaidyouwereupsetaboutsomewashcloth,”andit’sthenthattheconversationshifts,becauseit’spatronizingthewayhesaysit.AsifI’mjustsomestupidninnyrunningoffatthemouthaboutawashcloth.
“Oh,”Isay,andIleaveitatthat.
“Iwasgettingreadytoheadtoyourhouseandcheckonyou.Yousavedmeatrip,”hesays.OfficerBergtellsmetheafternooncommutewillbemessybecausethelocalschoolsweren’tcalledoffaheadofthestorm.Theonlysavinggraceisthatthesnowistoslowinthehourstocome.
AndthenOfficerBergbeginstopry.“Youwanttotellmeaboutthiswashcloth?”
“Ifoundawashcloth,”Itellhimslowly,“coveredinblood.Inmylaundryroom.”AndthenbecauseI’vesaidthatmuchalready,Igoon.“Ifoundtheknifeburiedinmybackyard.”
Hedoesn’tsomuchasblink.“TheknifethatwasusedtokillMrs.Baines?”heasks.
“Ibelieveso,”Isay.“Yes.Ithadbloodonit.”
“Whereistheknifenow,Doctor?”
“It’sinmybackyard.”
“Youleftitthere?”
“Idid.”
“Didyoutouchit?”
“No,”Isay.
“Whereaboutsinyourbackyard?”heasks,andItrytodescribeitforhim,thoughIimaginethatbynowtheknifeisengulfedinsnow.
“Andwhataboutthiswashcloth?Whereisthat?”
“Underthewashingmachine.Inthelaundryroom,”Itellhim.Heasksifthere’sbloodonthatstill,too,andIsayyes.Heexcuseshimselfandleavestheroom.Fornearlythirtysecondshe’sgone,andwhenhecomesback,hetellsmethatOfficerBissetisgoingtomyhometoretrievethewashclothandknife.Isaytohim,“Mysonishome,”butheassuresmethat’sallright,thatOfficerBissetwillbeinandoutquickly.Thathewon’tbotherOtto.
“ButIthink,Officer,”Istartandthenjustassoonstop.Idon’tknowhowtosaythis.Ipickattherimofthedisposablecup,piecesoffoamcomingwithme,gatheringinapileonthetabletoplikesnow.
AndthenIcomerightoutandsayit.“IthinkmaybemysonmurderedMrs.Baines,”Isay.“OrmaybeImogendid.”
Iexpectmoreofareaction.Butinsteadhegoeson,asifIdidn’tjustsaythosewordsaloud.
“There’ssomethingyoushouldknow,Dr.Foust,”hesays,andIask,“What’sthat?”
“Yourhusband…”
“Yes?”
“Will—”
Ihatethiswayhebeatsaroundthebush.It’sutterlymaddening.“Iknowmyhusband’sname,”Isnap,andforamomenthestaresatme,sayingnothing.
“Yes,”hesaysintime.“Isupposeyoudo.”
Abeatofsilencepassesby.Allthewhile,hestaresatme.Ishiftinmyseat.
“Whenhecalled,heretractedhisearlierstatementaboutthenightMrs.Baineswaskilled.AbouthowthetwoofyouwerewatchingTVandthenwentstraighttobed.Accordingtoyourhusband,that’snotentirelytrue.”
I’mtakenaback.“It’snot?”
“It’snot.NotaccordingtoMr.Foust.”
“WhatdidMr.Foustsayhappened?”Ichurlishlyaskasvoicescomethroughonthepolicescanner,loudbutindistinct.OfficerBerggoestoit,turningthevolumedownsothatwecanspeak.
Hereturnstohischair.“Hesaidthatthatnight,afteryourprogramended,youdidn’tgotobedlikeyousaid.Hesaidyouwalkedthedogsinstead.Youtookthedogsforawalkwhilehewentuptothebedroomtowashup.Youweregonequitesometime,yourhusbandsaid.”
Ifeelsomethinginsideofmestarttoshift.
Someoneislying.ButIdon’tknowwho.
“Isthatright?”Iask.
“That’sright,”hesays.
“Butthat’snottrue,”Iargue.Idon’tknowwhyWillwouldsaythis.There’sonlyonethingthatIcanthink.ThatWillwoulddoanythingtoprotectOttoandImogen.Anythingatall.Evenifitmeansthrowingmetothewolves.
“Hesaidyoutookthedogsforawalk,butastimewentonandyoudidn’tcomehome,hestartedtoworryaboutyou.Especiallywhenheheardthedogsbarking.Helookedoutsidetoseewhatwasthematter.Whenhedid,hefoundthedogsouttherebutnotyou.YouleftthedogsintheyardwhenyouwentovertotheBaineses’homethatnight,didn’tyou?”
Mystomachdrops.There’sthesensationoffree-falling,ofplummetingdownthefirsthillofarollercoaster,organsshiftinginsideofme.
Isay,enunciatingeachwordatatime,“Ididn’tgototheBaineses’homethatnight.”
Butheignoresthis.HegoesonasifIdidn’tevenspeak.HestartsspeakingofWillonafirst-namebasis.HeisWillandIamDr.Foust.
OfficerBerghaschosensides.Heisn’tonmine.
“Willtriedyouonyourcellphone.Youdidn’tanswer.Hestartedthinkingthatsomethingterriblehadhappenedtoyou.Hehurriedtothebedroomtoputhisclothesonsohecouldgosearchingforyou.Butjustashewasabouttopanic,youcamehome.”
OfficerBergpausesforbreath.“Ihavetoaskyouagain,Doctor.WherewereyoubetweenthehoursoftenandtwoonthenightthatMrs.Baineswaskilled?”
Ishakemyhead,sayingnothing.There’snothingtosay.I’vetoldhimwhereIwas,buthenolongerbelievesme.
OnlynowdoIrealizethatOfficerBerghascarriedalargeenvelopeintotheroomwithhim.Allthewhileit’ssatonthetable,justoutofreach.Hestandsandreachesforitnow.Heslipsafingerbeneaththeflaptoopenitup.Bergbeginstolayphotographsonthetableformetosee.They’retrulyheinous,growingmoreghastlywitheachimagehedrawsout.Theimageshavebeenenlarged,eightbyteninchesatleast.EvenwhenIavertmyeyesIseethem.There’saphotographofanopendoor—doorjambandlatchintact.Ofspraysofbloodtricklingdownthewalls.Theroomisstrikinglytidy,whichmakesmethinktherewasn’tmuchofascuffle.Theonlythingsoutofplaceareanumbrellastand,whichliesonitsside,andaframedphotograph,hangingcockeyedasifitgotelbowedinthefracas.
AtthecenterofitallliesMorgan.She’ssplayedinanuncomfortablepositiononanarearug,brownhairveilingherface,armsthrownupandoverherheadasif,inalast-ditcheffort,shetriedtoprotectherfacefromthebladeoftheknife.Aleglooksbrokenfromthefall,bentinawayit’snotmeanttogo.Herpajamasareon,flannelpantsandathermaltop,allofitred,soit’simpossibletoseewherethebloodendsandthepajamasbegin.Theleftlegofherpantsishitchedtotheknee.
Smallfootprintsarepressedintothepuddlesofblood.Theylessenindensityastheydriftawayfromthebody.Ienvisionanofficer’shandsluringthelittlegirlawayfromthedeadwoman’sbody.
“WhatIseehere,Doctor,”OfficerBergistellingme,“isn’tasignofarandomcrime.WhoeverdidthiswantedMorgantosuffer.Thiswasanactofangerandaggression.”
Ican’ttearmyeyesawayfromthephoto.TheydriftoverMorgan’sbody,thebloodyfootprints,backtothephotographmountedonthewall,theonethathangscockeyed.Igrabthephotographfromthetableandbringittomyeyesforabetterlookatthatmountedpictureframe,becauseI’veseenitbeforeandnotsolongago.Thewaythetreeslinethestreetisfamiliar.Thereisafamilyoffour.Amother,fatherandtwodaughters,roughlytheagesoftenandtwenty.
Thewoman,themother,inaprettygreendressissetonabrightyellowchairinthecenterofit,whileherfamilystandsaroundher.
“OhGod,”Igasp,handgoingtomymouth,becausethisphotograph—framedandmountedtoMorganBaines’swall—isthesameastheoneinthenewspaperarticleaboutErin’sdeath.Theoneonmycomputer.Theoldergirl,nearlytwentyyearsold,isWill’sformerfiancée,Erin.Itwaslikelytakenjustmonthsbeforeshedied.Theyoungergirlisherlittlesister.
Ichokeonmyownsaliva.OfficerBergpatsmyback,asksifI’mokay.InodbecauseIcan’tspeak.
“It’snoteasytolookat,isit?”OfficerBergasks,thinkingit’sthedeadwoman’sbodythathasmerattledlikethis.
Iseeitnow,whatIcouldn’tseebefore.Becausethewomaninthephotograph—themotherperchedonthechair—isoldernow.Herbrownhairisnowgray,andshe’slostasignificantamountofweight.Toomuchweight,infact,sothatshe’sgaunt.
It’sutterlyimpossible.It’stoohardtodigest.Thiscan’tbe.
ThewomaninthisphotographisMorgan’smother.ThewomanImetatthememorialservice.Thewomanwholostanotherchildyearsagoandhasneverbeenthesamesince,accordingtoherfriendsKarenandSusan.
ButIdon’tunderstandit.Ifthisistrue,itmeansthatMorganwasErin’ssister.ThatMorganisthelittlegirlinthephotograph,theonewho’sabouttenyearsold.
Whydidn’tWilltellmeaboutthis?
IthinkIknowwhy.Becauseofmyowninsecurities.WhatwouldIhavedoneifI’dlearnedErin’ssisterwaslivinginsuchcloseproximitytous?IrealizeWillandMorgan’sfriendship,theirchumminess,itwasreal.Itexisted.BecauseoftheirsharedaffinityfortheonewomanWilllovedmorethanme.Erin.
Theroomdriftsinandoutoffocus.Iblinkhard,tryingtogetittostop.OfficerBergteetersonthechairbesideme.Hedoesn’tmove;it’smyperceptionofhimthatmakeshimmove.It’sallinmyhead.Theedgesofhisfacebegintosoften.Theroomsuddenlyexpandsinsize,wallswiden,movingout.Whentheofficerspeaks,hiswordsarenearlyextinguishedbywhateverisgoingoninmyhead.Iseehislipsmove.Hiswordsarehardertomakeout.
Thefirsttimehesaysit,it’sunintelligible.
“Pardonme?”Iask,speakingloudly.
“Willtoldusthatyouhaveatendencytowardbeingjealousandinsecure.”
“Hedid,didhe?”
“Yes,Dr.Foust,hedid.Hesaidheneverexpectedyoutoactonthosefeelings.Buthealsosaidthatyou’vebeenhavingahardtimelately.Thatyou’renotquiteyourself.Hementionedapanicattack,aforcedresignation.You’renottheviolenttype,notaccordingtoWill.But,”hesays,repeatinghisownwords,“hesaysyouhaven’tbeenyourselflately.”
Heasks,“Doyouhaveanythingtosaytothat?”
Isaynothing.Aheadachebeginsjustthen,inchingupthenapeofmyneck,stabbingmebetweentheeyes.Iclenchmyeyesshuttight,pressingmyfingertipstomytemplestodullthepain.Imustexperienceadropinbloodpressurebecauseallatonce,it’shardtohear.OfficerBergistalking,askingifI’mokay.Butthewordsaremoremuffledthantheywerebefore.I’munderwater.
Adooropensandthencloses.OfficerBergisspeakingtosomeoneelse.Theyfoundnothing.Butthey’reconductingasearchofmyhomebecauseWillhasgiventhempermissiontodoso.
“Dr.Foust?Dr.Foust?”
Ahandshakesmyshoulder.
Whenmyeyesopenup,someoldguy’slookingatme.He’spracticallydrooling.Iglanceattheclock.Ilookdownatmyshirt.Abluebutton-downpajamashirtbuttonedallthewayup,makingmegag.Icanbarelybreathe.Shecanbesuchaprigsometimes.Iunbuttonthetopthreebuttons,letinalittleair.“It’sfuckinghotinhere,”Isay,fanningmyself,seeingthewayhelooksatmyclavicle.
“Everythingallright?”heasks.He’sgotoneofthoselooksonhisface,likehe’sconfusedaboutwhathesees.Hiseyebrowsareallscrunchedup.Hedigstheheelsofhishandsintohiseyesockets,makessureheisn’tseeingthings.HeasksagainifI’mallright.IthinkIshouldaskifhe’sallright—heseemstobeinfarmoredistressthanme—butIdon’tsomuchcareifheis.SoIdon’task.
InsteadIask,“Whywouldn’teverythingbeallright?”
“Youseem,Idon’tknow,disorientedsomehow.You’refeelingokay?Icanfetchyousomewater,ifyoudon’twantyourcoffee.”
Ilookatthecupbeforeme.It’snotmine.
Hejustlooksatme,sayingnothing,staring.Isay,“Sure,”aboutthewater.Itwirlastrandofhairaroundmyfinger,takingintheroomaroundme.Cold,bland,atable,fourwalls.There’snotmuchtoit,nothingtolookat,nothingtotellmewhereIam.Nothingexceptforthisguybeforeme,fullydeckedoutinauniform.Clearlyacop.
AndthenIseethepicturesonthetablebesideme.
“Goon,”Itellhim.“Fetchmesomewater.”
Hegoesandcomesbackagain.Hegivesmethewater,setsitonthetableinfrontofme.“Sotellme,”hesays.“Tellmewhathappenedwhenyoutookthedogsforawalk.”
“Whatdogs?”Iask.I’vealwayslikeddogs.PeopleIhate,butI’mquitefondofdogs.
“Yourdogs,Dr.Foust.”
Igetagreatbigbellylaughoutofthat.It’spreposterous,ludicrous,himmistakingmeforSadie.It’sinsultingmorethananything.Welooknothingalike.Different-colorhair,eyes,aheckofanagegap.Sadieisold.I’mnot.Ishesoblindhecan’tseethat?
“Please,”Isay,tuckingastrandofhairbehindanear.“Don’tinsultme.”
Hedoesadoubletake,asks,“Pardonme?”
“Isaiddon’tinsultme.”
“I’msorry,Dr.Foust.I—”ButIstophimtherebecauseIcan’tstandthewayhekeepsreferringtomeasSadie,asDr.Foust.Sadiewouldbeluckytobeme.ButSadieisnotme.
“Stopcallingmethat,”Isnap.
“Youdon’twantmetocallyouDr.Foust?”
“No,”Itellhim.
“Well,whatshouldIcallyou,then?”heasks.“WouldyoupreferthatIcallyouSadie?”
“No!”Ishakemyhead,insistent,indignant.Itellhim,“Youshouldcallmebymyname.”
Hiseyesnarrow,hominginonme.“IthoughtSadiewasyourname.SadieFoust.”
“Youthoughtwrong,then,didn’tyou?”
Helooksatme,wordsslackasheasks,“IfnotSadie,thenwhoareyou?”
Istickahandouttohim,tellhimmynameisCamille.Hishandiscoldwhenheshakesit,limp.Helooksaroundtheroomashedoes,askswhereSadiewent.
Itellhim,“Sadieisn’thererightnow.Shehadtogo.”
“Butshewasjusthere,”hesays.
“Yeah,”Itellhim,“butnowshe’snot.Nowit’sjustme.”
“I’msorry.I’mnotfollowing,”hesays,askingagainifI’mfeelingokay,ifI’mallright,encouragingmetodrinkupthewater.
“I’mfeelingfine,”Isay,drinkingthewaterinonebigswig.I’mthirstyandhot.
“Dr.Foust—”
“Camille,”Iremindhim,searchingtheroomforaclock,toseewhattimeitis,howmuchtimeI’vemissed.
Hesays,“Okay.Camille,then.”Heshowsmeoneofthepicturesfromthetabletop,theonewhereshe’scoveredinherownblood,eyesopen,dead.“Doyouknowanythingaboutthis?”
Ileavehimhanging.Can’tletthecatoutofthebagjustyet.
SADIE
I’maloneinaroom,sittinginachairthatbacksuptoawall.Thereisn’tmuchtotheroom,justwalls,twochairs,adoorthat’slocked.IknowbecauseI’vealreadytriedleaving.Itriedturningtheknobbutitdidn’tturn.Iwoundupknockingonthedoor,poundingonthedoor,callingoutforhelp.Butitwasallinvain.Becausenoonecame.
Nowthedooreasilyopens.Awomanwalksin,carryingateacupinherhand.Shecomestome.Shesetsabriefcaseonthefloorandhelpsherselftotheotherchair,sittingoppositeme.Shedoesn’tintroduceherselfbutbeginsspeakingasifwealreadyknowoneanother,asifwe’vealreadymet.
Sheasksmequestions.They’repersonalandinvasive.Ibristleinthechair,drawingawayfromthem,wonderingwhysheisaskingaboutmymother,myfather,mychildhood,somewomannamedCamillewhomIdon’tknow.Inmywholelife,I’veneverknownanyonenamedCamille.Butshelooksatme,disbelieving.SheseemstothinkIdo.
Shetellsmethingsthataren’ttrue,aboutmyselfandmylife.Igetagitated,upsetwhenshesaysthem.
Iaskhowshecanclaimtoknowthesethingsaboutme,whenIdon’tevenknowthemformyself.OfficerBergisresponsibleforthis,forsendinghertospeaktome,becauseoneminutehewasinterrogatingmeinhistinyroom,andthenextminuteI’mhere,thoughIhavenoideawhattimeitis,whatdayitis,andIcan’trememberanythingthathappenedinbetween.HowdidIgethere,intothischair,intothisroom?DidIwalkheremyselfordidtheydrugandbringmehere?
ThiswomantellsmethatshehasreasontobelieveIsufferfromdissociativeidentitydisorder,thatalternatepersonalities—alters,shecallsthem—controlmythoughts,mybehaviorfromtimetotime.Shesaysthattheycontrolme.
Itakeadeepbreath,gathermyself.“That’simpossible,”Ibreatheout,“nottomentionutterlyridiculous,”Isay,throwingmyarmsupintheair.“DidOfficerBergtellyouthat?”Iask,gettingangry,losingmycomposure.IstherenothingBergwon’tdotopinMorganBaines’smurderonme?“Thisisunprofessional,unethical,illegaleven,”Isnap,askingwhoisinchargesothatIcandemandtospeaktohimorher.
Sheanswersnoneofmyquestions,butinsteadasks,“Areyoupronetoperiodsofblackouts,Dr.Foust?Thirtyminutes,anhourpassthatyoucan’tremember?”
Ican’tdenythis,thoughItry.Itellherthat’sneverhappened.
Butatthesametime,Idon’tremembergettinghere.
Therearenowindowsinthisroom.There’snowaytogetasenseofthetimeofday.ButIseethefaceofthewoman’swatch.It’supsidedown,butIseeit,thehandsintherealmoftwofifty,butwhetherthat’sa.m.orp.m.Idon’tknow.Eitherway,itdoesn’tmatter,becauseIknowgoodandwellitwasten,maybeeleveno’clockinthemorningwhenIwalkedtothepublicsafetybuilding.Whichconceivablymeansthatfour—orsixteen—hourshavepassedthatIcan’taccountfor.
“Doyourememberspeakingtomeearliertoday?”sheasks.Theanswerisno.Idon’trememberspeakingtoher.ButItellherIdoanyway.IclaimIrememberthatconversationquitewell.ButI’veneverbeenagoodliar.
“Thisisn’tthefirsttimewe’vespoken,”shetellsme.Igatheredasmuchfromherlineofquestioning,thoughthatdoesn’tmeanIbelieveher.Thatdoesn’tmeansheisn’tmakingitallup.“ButthelasttimeIwashere,Iwasn’tspeakingtoyou,Doctor.IwasspeakingtoawomannamedCamille,”shesays,andthenshegoesontodescribeformeapushy,garrulousyoungwomannamedCamillewhoislivinginsideofme,alongwithawithdrawnchild.
I’veneverheardanythingasridiculousinmywholelife.
Shetellsmethatthechilddoesn’tsaymuchbutthatshelikestodraw.Shesaysthatthetwoofthem,thiswomanandthechild,drewpicturestogethertoday,whichsheshowsme,pluckingasheetofpaperfromherbriefcaseandhandingittome.
Andthereitis,sketchedwithpencilonasheetofnotebookpaperthistime:thedismemberedbody,thewoman,theknife,theblood.Otto’sartwork,thesamepictureI’vebeenfindingaroundthehouse.
Itellher,“Ididn’tdrawthat.Mysondrewthat.”
Butshesays,“No.”
Shehasadifferenttheoryaboutwhodrewthispicture.Sheclaimsthatthechildalterinsideofmedrewit.Ilaughoutloudattheabsurdityofthat,becauseifsomechildalterlivinginsideofmedrewit,thenwhatshe’ssayingisthatIdrewthispicture.ThatIdrewthepicturesintheattic,inthehallway,andleftthemaroundthehouseformyselftofind.
Ididnotdrawthispicture.Ididnotdrawanyofthepictures.
I’drememberifIdid.
Itellher,“Ididn’tdrawthispicture.”
“Ofcourseyoudidn’t,”shesaid,andforasplitsecondIthinkshebelievesme.Untilshesays,“Notyouspecifically.NotSadieFoust.WhathappenswithDIDisthatyourpersonalitygetsfragmented.Itgetssplit.Thosefragmentsformdistinctidentities,withtheirveryownname,appearance,gender,age,handwriting,speechpatterns,more.”
“What’shername,then?”Ichallenge.“Ifyouspoketoher.Ifyoudrewpictureswithher.Thenwhat’shername?”
“Idon’tknow.She’sshy,Sadie.Thesethingstaketime,”shesays.
“Howoldisshe?”Iask.
“She’ssixyearsold.”
Shetellsmethatthischildlikestocoloranddraw.Shelikestoplaywithdolls.Shehasagameshelikestoplay,whichthiswomanplayedwithherinanefforttogethertoopenup.Playtherapy,thiswomantellsme.Inthisveryroom,theyheldhandsandspunincircles.Whentheywerebothasdizzyascouldbe,theystopped.Theyfrozeinplacelikestatues.
“Thestatuegame,shecalledit,”thiswomantellsme,becausetheyheldstilllikestatuesuntiloneofthemfinallytoppledover.
Itrytoimaginewhatshe’stellingme.Ipicturethischildspinningincircleswiththiswoman,exceptthechildalter—ifI’mtobelieveher—isnotachild.It’sme.
Itmakesmeblushtothinkofit.Me,athirty-nine-year-oldwoman,holdinghandsandspinningaroundthisroomwithanothergrownwoman,freezinginplacelikestatues.
Theideaisabsurd.Ican’tstandtoentertainit.
NotuntilTate’swordscomerushingbacktome:Statuegame,statuegame!anditstrikesanerve.
Mommyisaliar!Youdoknowwhatitis,youliar.
“Onaverage,thosewithDIDhavearoundtenalterslivingwithinthem,”shetellsme.“Sometimesmore,sometimesless.Sometimesasmanyasonehundred.”
“HowmanydoIsupposedlyhave?”Iask.BecauseIdon’tbelieveher.Becausethisisjustsomeelaboratescamtobesmirchmyname,mycharacter,makingiteasierformetotakethefallforMorgan’smurder.
“SofarI’vemettwo,”shesays.
“Sofar?”
“Theremaybemore.”Shegoesontosay,“Dissociativeidentitydisorderoftenbeginswithahistoryofabuseatayoungage.Thealternatepersonalitiesformasacopingmechanism.Theyservedifferentpurposes,likeprotectingthehost.Standingup,speakingupforthehost.Harboringthepainfulmemories.”
Asshesaysit,Ithinkofmyself,harboringparasites.Ithinkoftheoxpeckerbird,whoeatsbugsoffthebacksofhippos.Asymbioticrelationship,oncethought,untilscientistsrealizedtheoxpeckerswereactuallyvampirebirds,diggingholestodrinkthebloodofthehippopotamuses.
Notsosymbioticafterall.
Shesays,“Tellmeaboutyourchildhood,Dr.Foust.”
ItellherIcan’tremembermuchofmychildhood,nearlynothing,infact,untilIwasaroundelevenyearsold.
Shejustlooksatme,sayingnothing,waitingformetoputittogether.
Areyoupronetoperiodsofblackouts,Dr.Foust?
Butblackoutsaretemporarylossesoftime,causedbythingslikealcoholconsumption,epilepticseizures,lowbloodsugar.
Ididn’tblackoutfortheextentofmyyoungchildhood.Ijustdon’tremember
“That’stypicalincasesofDID,”shetellsmeafterawhile.“Thedissociationisawaytodisconnectfromatraumaticexperience.Acopingmechanism,”shesaysagain,asifshedidn’tjustsaythatmomentsago.
“Tellmeaboutthiswoman,”Isay.I’mtryingtocatchherinalie.Certainlysoonerorlatershe’llcontradictherself.“ThisCamillewoman.”
Shetellsmetherearedifferenttypesofalters.Persecutoralters,protectoralters,more.Shehasyettoascertainwhichthisyoungwomanis.Becausesometimesshestandsupforme,butmoreoftenherportrayalsofmearehate-filled.She’shuffy,tickedoff.Angryandaggressive.It’salove-haterelationship.Shehatesme.Shealsowantstobeme.
Thelittlegirldoesn’tknowIexist.
“OfficerBergtookthelibertyofdoingsomeresearch,”shesays.“Yourmotherdiedinchildbirth,no?”sheasks,andIsaythatyes,shedid.Preeclampsia.Myfatherneverspokeofit,butbythewayhiseyesgotglossywheneverhernamecameup,Iknewithadbeenhorrificforhim.Losingher,raisingmealone.
“Whenyouweresix,yourfatherremarried,”shesays,butIobjecttothis.
“No,hedidn’t,”Isay.“Itwasjustmyfatherandme.”
“Yousaidyoudon’trememberyourchildhood,Doctor,”sheremindsme,butItellherwhatIdoremember:beingelevenyearsold,myfatherandmelivinginthecity,himtakingthetraintowork,cominghomefifteen,sixteenhourslater,drunk.
“Iremember,”Isay,thoughIdon’trememberwhatcamebeforethis,butI’dliketobelieveitwasalwaysthesame.
Shepullspaperworkfromherbriefcase,tellingmethattheyearIwassixyearsold,myfathermarriedawomanbythenameofCharlotteSchneider.WelivedinHobart,Indiana,andmyfatherworkedasasalesrepforasmallcompany.Threeyearslater,whenIwasnine,myfatherandCharlottedivorced.Irreconcilabledifferences.
“Whatcanyoutellmeaboutyourstepmother?”sheasks,andItellher,“Nothing.You’remistaken.OfficerBergismistaken.Therewasnostepmother.Itwasonlymyfatherandme.”
Sheshowsmeaphotograph.Myfather,meandsomestrangebutbeautifulwomanstandingbeforeahomeIdon’tknow.Thehouseissmall,justoneandahalfstoriestall.It’snearlyengulfedintrees.Inthedriveisacar.Idon’trecognizeit.
MyfatherlooksyoungerthanIrememberhim,morehandsome,morealive.Hestaressidewaysatthewoman,hiseyesnotmeetingthecameralens.Hissmileisauthentic,whichstrikesmeasodd.Myfatherwasamanwhodidn’toftensmile.Intheimage,hehasafullheadofdarkhairandiswithoutallthesawtoothlinesthatlatertookoverhiseyesandcheeks.
MyfatherhadanicknameformewhenIwasagirl.Mouse,hecalledme.BecauseIwasoneofthosetwitchy,tic-pronekids,alwayswrinklingmynoseup,likeamouse
“Ishowedthispictureearliertoday.Itdidn’tsitwellwiththechildalter,Sadie.Itmadeherruntothecorneroftheroom,beginscribblingfuriouslyonpaper.Shedrewthis,”shesays,holdingthedrawingup,showingittomeagain.Thedismemberedbody,theblobofblood.
“Aroundthetimeyouweretenyearsold,yourfatherfiledforanorderofprotectionagainstyourstepmother.HesoldyourhomeinIndiana,movedwithyoutoChicago.Hestartedanewcareer,atadepartmentstore.Doyourememberthis?”sheasks,butIdon’t.Notallofit,anyway.
“Ineedtogetbacktomyfamily,”Itellherinstead.“Theymustbeworriedaboutme.TheymustwonderwhereIam,”butshesaysthatmyfamilyknowswhereIam.
IpictureWill,OttoandTateinourhomewithoutme.Iwonderifthesnowrelented,ifferrytrafficresumed,ifWillmadeithomeintimetopickTateupfromschool.
IthinkofOttoathomewhenthepolicearrivedtocollectthewashcloth,theknife.
“Ismysonhere?IsmysonOttohere?”Iask,wonderingifI’mevenatthepublicsafetybuildinganymoreorifthey’vetakenmeelsewhere.
Ilookaround.Iseeawindowlessroom,awall,twochairs,thefloor.
There’snowaytoknowwhereIam.
Iaskthewoman,“WhereamI?WhencanIgohome?”
“Ijusthaveafewmorequestions,”shesays.“Ifyou’llbearwithme,we’llgetyououtofheresoon.Whenyouarrivedatthestation,youtoldOfficerBergtherewasabloodywashclothinyourhome,alongwithaknife.”
“Yes,”Itellher,“that’sright.”
“OfficerBergsentsomeonetoyourhome.Thepropertywasthoroughlysearched.Neitheritemwasthere.”
“They’remistaken,”Isay,voiceelevating,mybloodpressurespikingasaheadacheformsbetweenmyeyes,adull,achypain,andIpressonit,watchingastheroomaroundmebeginstodriftinandoutoffocus.“Isawthemboth.Iknowforcertainthey’rethere.Thepolicedidn’tlookhardenough,”IinsistbecauseIknowI’mrightaboutthis.Thewashclothandtheknifewerethere.Ididn’timaginethem.
“There’smore,Dr.Foust,”shetellsme.“Yourhusbandgavethepolicepermissiontosearchyourhome.TheyfoundMrs.Baines’smissingcellphonethere.Canyoutellushowitcametobeinyourhome,orwhyyoudidn’tturnitintothepolice?”
“Ididn’tknowitwasthere,”Isaydefensively.Ishrugmyshoulders,tellherIcan’texplain.“Wheredidtheyfindit?”Iask,feelinghopefulthattheanswerstoMorgan’smurderarethereonherphone.
“Theyfoundit,oddlyenough,chargingonyourfireplacemantel.”
“What?”Iask,aghast.ThenIrememberthedeadphone.TheoneIassumedwasAlice’s.
“Weaskedyourhusband.Hesaidhedidn’tputitthere.Didyouputthecellphoneonthemantel,Dr.Foust?”sheasks.
ItellherIdid.
“WhatwereyoudoingwithMrs.Baines’scellphone?”sheasks,andthisIcanexplain,thoughitsoundssounbelievableasIsayit,tellingherhowIfoundMorgan’scellphoneinmybed.
“YoufoundMrs.Baines’sphoneinyourbed?Yourhusbandtoldthepoliceyou’rethejealoustype.Thatyou’remistrustful.Thatyou’reintolerantofhimspeakingtootherwomen.”
“That’snottrue,”Isnap,angrythatWillwouldsaythesethingsofme.EverytimeIaccusedhimofcheating,itwaswithgoodreason.
“Wereyoujealousofyourhusband’srelationshipwithMrs.Baines?”
“No,”Isay,butthat’sofcoursealie.Iwassomewhatjealous.Iwasinsecure.AfterWill’shistory,Ihadeveryrighttobe.Itrytoexplainthistoher.ItellheraboutWill’spast,abouthisaffairs.
“DidyouthinkyourhusbandandMrs.Baineswerehavinganaffair?”sheasks,andIdid,truthbetold,thinkthat.ForatimeIdid.ButIneverwouldhaveactedonit.AndnowIknowthatitwasn’tanaffairtheywerehaving,butsomethingthatwentdeeperthanthat.WillandMorganhadabond,aconnection,tohisformerfiancée.Theoneheclaimedhedidn’tloveanymorethanme.Butsomehow,Ithinkhedid.
Ireachacrossthetable,takeaholdofherhandsandsay,“Youhavetobelieveme.Ididn’tdoanythingtohurtMorganBaines.”Shepullsherhandsaway.
Ifeeldisembodiedthen.Iwatchonasanothermesitsslumpedinachair,speakingtoawoman.“Idobelieveyou,Dr.Foust.Ido.Idon’tthinkSadiedidthis,”thewomansays,thoughhervoicecomestomemuffledasifI’mslippingaway,drowninginwater,beforetheroomdropsentirelyfromsight.
WILL
Theyletmeintotheroom.Sadieisthere.Shesitsonachairwithherbacktome.Hershouldersslumpforward;herheadisinherhands.Fromthebackside,shelookstobeabouttwelveyearsold.Herhairismatteddowntoherhead;herpajamasareon.
Itreadlightly.“Sadie?”Igentlyaskbecausemaybeitisandmaybeitisn’t.UntilIgetagoodlookather,Ineverknowwhosheis.Thephysicalcharacteristicsdon’tchange.There’salwaysthebrownhairandeyes,thesametrimfigure,thesamecomplexionandnose.Thechangeisinherdemeanor,inherbearing.It’sinherposture:inthewayshestandsandwalks.It’sinthewayshetalks,herwordchoiceandpitch.It’sinheractions.Ifshe’saggressiveordemure,akilljoyorcrass,easyorhigh-strung.Ifshecomesontomeorifshecowersinacorner,cryingoutlikealittlegirlforherdaddyeverytimeItouchher.
Mywifeisachameleon.
Shelooksatme.She’swrecked.She’sgottearsinhereyes,whichishowIknowshe’seitherthekidorshe’sSadie.BecauseCamillewouldnevercry.
“TheythinkIkilledher,Will.”
Sadie.
Sadie’svoiceispanickedwhenshespeaks.She’sbeinghypersensitiveasalways.Sherisesfromthechair,comestome,attachesherselftome.Armsaroundmyneck,gettingallclingy,whichordinarilySadiedoesn’tdo.Butshe’sdesperatenow,thinkingI’lldoherbiddingforherasIalwaysdo.Butnotthistime
“Oh,Sadie,”Isay,strokingherhair,beingamenableasalways.“You’reshaking,”Isay,pullingaway,keepingheratanarm’slength.
I’vegotempathydowntoascience.Eyecontact,activelistening.Askquestions,avoidjudgment.Icoulddoitinmysleep.Itneverhurtstocryalittle,too.
“MyGod,”Isay.IletgoofherhandslongenoughtoreachforthetissueIputinmypocketbefore,theonewithenoughmentholtomakemyselfcry.Idabitatmyeyes,putitbackinmypocket,letthewaterworksbegin.“Bergwillruethedayhedidthistoyou.I’veneverseenyousoupset,”Itellher,cuppingherfaceinmyhands,takingherin.“Whatdidtheydotoyou?”Iask.
Hervoiceisscreechywhenitcomes.She’spanicking.Iseeitinhereyes.“TheythinkIkilledMorgan.ThatIdiditbecauseIwasjealousofyouandher.I’mnotakiller,Will,”shesays.“Youknowthat.Youhavetotellthem.”
“Ofcourse,Sadie.OfcourseIwill,”Ilie,alwaysherJohnny-on-the-spot.Always.Itgetsold.“I’lltellthem,”Isay,thoughIwon’t.I’mnotconvincedoftheneedtocommitobstructionofjusticeforher,thoughSadie,herself,couldneverkill.That’swhereCamillecomesinhandy.
Truthbetold,IlikeCamillemorethanSadie.Thefirsttimeshemanifestedherselfforme,IthoughtSadiewasyankingmychain.Butno.Itwasreal.Andalmosttoogoodtobetrue.BecauseI’ddiscoveredavivacious,untamablewomanlivinginsidemywife,oneIwasmoresmittenwiththanthewomanImarried.Itwaslikediscoveringgoldinamine.
There’sawholemetamorphosisthathappens.I’vebeenatthislongenoughthatIknowwhenit’shappening.IjustneverknowwhoI’llgetwhenthemutationtakesplace,ifI’llwindupwithabutterflyorafrog.
“Youhavetobelieveme,”shebegs.
“Idobelieveyou,Sadie.”
“Ithinkthey’retryingtoframeme,”shesays.“ButIhaveanalibi,Will.Iwaswithyouwhenshewaskilled.They’reblamingmeforsomethingIdidn’tdo!”sheyellsasIgotoher,holdherprettylittleheadinmyhandsandtellhereverythingwillbeallright.
Sherecoilsthen,rememberingsomething.
“Bergsaidyoucalledhim,”shesays.“Hesaidyoucalledhimandtookbackwhatyousaidaboutthatnight.HesaysyousaidIwasn’twithyouafterall.ThatIwalkedthedogs.Thatyoudidn’tknowwhereI’dgone.Youlied,Will.”
“Isthatwhattheytoldyou?”Iask,aghast.Iletmymouthdrop,myeyesgowide.Ishakemyheadandsay,“They’relying,Sadie.They’retellinglies,tryingtopitusagainsteachother.It’satactic.Youcan’tbelieveanythingtheysay.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeMorganwasErin’ssister?”sheasks,changingtack.“Youkeptthatfromme.Iwouldhaveunderstood,Will.IwouldhaveunderstoodyourneedtoconnectwithsomeoneErinlovedifonlyyou’dhavetoldme.Iwouldhavesupportedthat,”shesays,andit’slaughable,really.BecauseIthoughtSadiewassmarterthanthis.Shehasn’tputtwoandtwotogether.
Ididn’tneedtoconnectwithMorgan.Ineededtodisconnect.Ididn’tknowshelivedontheislandwhenwemovedhere.IfIdid,wewouldn’thavecome.
ImaginemysurprisewhenIsawherforthefirsttimeintenyears.Icouldhaveletitgo,too.ButMorgancouldn’tletsleepingdogslie.
Shethreatenedtosnitch.TotellSadiewhatI’ddone.ThepictureofErinsheleftforSadietofind.Ifounditfirst,putitinthelastplaceIexpectedSadietolook.Itwasjustmyluckthatshedid.
MorganwasastupidkidthenightItookErin’slife.SheheardusfightingbecauseErinhadfallenforsomedickwhenshewasoffatschool.Shecamehometobreaktheengagementoff.Shetriedtogivemetheringback.Erinhadonlybeengoneacoupleofmonths,butbywinterbreakshewashighandmightyalready.Shethoughtshewasbetterthanme.AsororitygirlwhileIwasstilllivingathome,goingtocommunitycollege.
Morgantriedtotattle,totelleveryonesheheardusfightingthenightbefore,butnoonewasgoingtobelieveaten-year-oldoverme.AndIplayedtheroleofthedistraughtboyfriendquitewell.Iwasheartbrokenascouldbe.AndnooneyetknewErinhadbeenseeingsomeonenew.Sheonlytoldthattome.
Theevidence—thestorm,theicypatchesonthestreet,thelackofvisibility—wasalsoinsurmountablethatnight.I’dtakenprecautions.Whentheyfoundher,therewerenoexternalsignsofviolence.Nosignsofastruggle.Asphyxiationisextremelydifficulttodetect.Theydidn’tdoatoxscreeneither,onaccountoftheweatherconditions.NooneconsideredthatErinmight’vediedbecauseofashitloadofXanaxinhersystem,becauseofhypoxia,becauseofaplasticbagstrappeddownoverherhead.Thecopsdidn’t.Theydidn’tthinkonceaboutthewayIpulledthebagfromherheadwhenshewasdead;howImovedErin’sbodytothedriver’sseat,shiftedthecarintoDrive,watchedhercorpsetakearideintothepondbeforeIwalkedtherestofthewayhome,gratefulforthesnowthatcoveredmytracks.No,theythoughtonlyoftheicyroad,ofErin’sleadfoot,oftheindisputablefactthatsheswervedofftheroadandintothefreezingwater—whichwasquitedisputableafterall.Becausethat’snotthewayithappened.
Premeditatedmurder.Itwasalmosttooeasytodoandgetawaywith.
Imovedon,metSadie,fellinlove,gotmarried.EnterCamille.
ShetookcareofmeinwaysSadienevercould.Ineverimaginedallthatshe’ddoformeovertheyears.Morganwasn’tthefirstwomanshekilledforme.BecausetherewasCarrieLaemmer,too,astudentofminewhoaccusedmeofsexualharassment.
AgainSadiespeaks.“TheysayIdisassociate.ThatI’monlyoneofmanyparts.Thattherearepeoplelivinginsideofme,”shesays.“It’sludicrous.Imean,ifyou,myhusband,didn’tseeit,howcouldthey?”
“It’soneofthemanythingsIloveaboutyou.Yourunpredictability.Differenteveryday.I’lltellyouthis,Sadie—youwereneverboring.Ijustnevercameupwithadiagnosisforyourcondition,”Isay,thoughit’salie,ofcourse.I’veknownforeonswhatIwasdealingwith.Ilearnedhowtoturnitinmyfavor.
“Youknew?”sheasks,aghast.
“It’sagoodthing,Sadie.Thesilverlining.Don’tyousee?Thepolicedon’tthinkthatyoukilledMorgan.TheybelievethatCamilledid.Youcanpleadnotguiltybyreasonofinsanity.Youwon’tgotojail.”
Shegasps,comingundone.It’sfuntowatch.“ButI’llbesenttoapsychiatricinstitution,Will.Iwon’tbeabletogohome.”
“That’sbetterthanjail,isn’tit,Sadie?Doyouknowwhatkindofthingshappeninjail?”
“But,Will,”shetellsme,desperatenow.“I’mnotinsane.”
Istepawayfromher.IgotothedoorbecauseI’mtheonlyoneofuswiththefreedomtoleave.There’spowerinthat.Iturnandlookather,myfacechanging,becomingvisiblyapatheticbecausethesham-empathyisgettingexhausting.
“I’mnotinsane,”shetellsmeagain.
Iholdmytongue.Itwouldn’tberighttolie.
SADIE
SometimeafterWillhasgone,OfficerBergstepsintotheroomwithme.Heleavesthedooropen.
Iknowmyrights.Idemandtoseealawyer.
Buthejustshrugshalf-heartedlyatmeandsays,“Noneed,”becausethey’relettingmego.Theyhavenoevidencetoholdmeon.ThemurderweaponandthewashcloththatIsaidIsawwerenowheretobefound.ThegoingtheoryisthatImadethembothupinanefforttothrowofftheinvestigation.Buttheycan’tprovethateither.TheysayIkilledMorgan.ThatItransformedintosomeotherversionofmeandkilledhermyself.Butthepoliceneedprobablecausebeforetheycanarrestme.Theyneedsomethingmorethanmeresuspicion.EvenMr.Nilsson’sstatementisn’tdamningenoughbecauseitdoesn’tplacemeatthecrimescene.Thecellphoneinmyhomealsodoesn’tdothat.Thesethingsarecircumstantial.
Itfeelslikesomephantomthing.TherearepartsofmylifeIcan’taccountfor,includingthatnight.It’sintherealmofpossibilitythatImurderedthatpoorwoman—orsomeversionofmedid—thoughIdon’tknowwhy.ThepicturesOfficerBergshowedmecometomindandIstifleacry.
“Wouldyoulikeustocallyourhusbandtocomegetyou?”OfficerBergasks,butIsayno.Truthbetold,I’mabitupsetthatWillleftmeatthepolicestationalone.Thoughtheweatheroutsideisstillinclement,Ineedtobealonewithmythoughts.Ineedfreshair.
OfficerBerghimselfoffersmearide,butIsaynotothat,too.Ineedtogetawayfromhim.
IstarttoshrugoffthecoatOfficerBerggaveme,buthestopsme,sayingIshouldkeepit.He’llgetitanothertime.
It’sdarkoutside.Thesunhasset.Theworldiswhite,butfornowthesnowhasstoppedcomingdown.Trafficmovesslowly.Headlightsmaneuverthroughsnowbanks.Tiresscrapeagainstthepacked-downsnow.Thestreetsaremessy.
Thereareslippersonmyfeet,thoughthey’reafarcryfromshoes.They’reknitandafauxfurthatonlyabsorbsthemoisture,makingmyfeetwet,red,numb.Myhairhasn’tseenacombtoday.IhavenoideawhatIlooklike,thoughI’dventuretoguessit’sjustahairbreadthawayfromamadwoman.
AsIwalkthefewblockshome,Ipiecetogetherthelastfewhoursofmylife.IleftOttoalonewiththewashclothandtheknife.Thepolicecamesearchingforthesethings.Bythetimetheydid,theyweregone.Someonedidsomethingwiththewashclothandtheknife.
AsImakemywaytowardourstreet,Iputmyheaddownandwalk,myarmstiedintoaknottostaveoffthenight’sfiercewind.Thesnowonthegroundstillblowsabout.Thereareicypatchesonthestreet,whichIslipon,fallingonce,twice,threetimes.OnlyonthethirdtimedoesaGoodSamaritanhelpmetomyfeet,takingmeforadrunk.Heasksifhecancallsomeonetocomepickmeup,butbythenI’malmosthome.Ijusthaveourstreettoclimb,andIdosogracelessly.
IseeWillinthewindowwhenIarrive,sittingonthesofa,thefireplacered-hot.Hislegsarecrossedandhe’slostinthought.Tatedashesthroughtheroom,smilingmerrily,andonhiswaypast,Willtickleshisbellyandhelaughs.Tatetakesoff,runningupthestairsandawayfromWill,andthenhe’sgone,tosomeotherpartofthehousewhereIcannolongerseehim.Willreturnstothesofa,laceshishandsbehindhisheadandleansback,seeminglycontent.
Therearelightsonintheupstairswindows,Otto’sandImogen’s,whichfacethestreet,thoughthecurtainsareclosed.Ican’tseeanythingbuttheglowingperipheriesofthewindows,thoughitsurprisesmethatevenImogenishome.Atthistimeintheevening,sheisn’toftenhome.
Fromtheoutside,thehouselooksperfectlyidyllicasitdidthatfirstdaywearrived.Therooftops,thetreesarecoveredwithsnow.Itcoversthelawn,sparklingwhite.Thesnowcloudshavecleared,themoonilluminatingthepicturesquescene.Thefireplacespewssmokefromthechimney,andthoughoutsidetheworldisfreezing,insideitlooksundeniablyhomeyandwarm.
There’snothingamisswiththisscene,asifWillandthekidshavemovedonwithoutme,noonenoticingmyabsence.
Buttheveryfactthatnothingisamissmakesmefeelinstinctuallythatsomethingiswrong.
WILL
Thedoorburstsopen.Thereshestands,allslovenlyandwindblown.
NiceofBergtogivemefairwarningthatshe’dbeenletgo.
Ihidemysurprise.Irisetomyfeet,gotoher,cuphercoldfaceinmyhands.“Oh,thankGod,”Isay,embracingher.Iholdmybreath.Shesmellsputrid.“Theyfinallycametotheirsenses,”Isay,butSadie’sgivingmethecoldshoulder,pullingaway,sayingIleftherthere,thatIabandonedher.It’sallverydramatic.
“Ididnosuchthing,”Isay,playingtoherweakness,herpenchantforlosingtime.RoughlyaquarteroftheconversationsSadiehas,shedoesn’trememberhaving.Whichhasbecomeunexceptionalforme,butisquitethenuisanceforcoworkersandthelike.ItmakesitdifficultforSadietohavefriendsbecauseonthesurfaceshe’smoodyandaloof.
“ItoldyouI’dbebackjustassoonasImadesurethekidswereallright,”Isay.“Don’tyouremember?Iloveyou,Sadie.Iwouldneverhaveabandonedyou.”
Sheshakesherhead.Shedoesn’tremember.Becauseitdidn’thappen.
“Wherearethekids?”sheasks,lookingforthem.
“Intheirrooms.”
“Whenwereyougoingtocomeback?”
“I’vebeenmakingcalls,tryingtofindsomeonetocomestaywiththekids.Ididn’twanttoleavethemaloneallnight.”
“WhyshouldIbelieveyou?”sheasks,adoubtingThomas.Shewantstolookatmyphone,seewhomI’vecalled,andit’sonlybecausefortunesmilesdownonmethattherearerecentcallsinthecalllogtonumbersSadiedoesn’tknow.Iassignthemnames.Andrea,acolleague,andSamantha,agraduatestudent.
“Whywouldn’tyoubelieveme?”Ifireback,playingthevictim.
WehearTateupstairsjumpingawayonhisbed.Thehousegroansbecauseofit.
Sheshakesherhead,feelingspent,andsays,“Idon’tknowwhattobelieveanymore.”Sherubsatherforehead,tryingtofigureitout.She’shadahellofaday.Shecan’tunderstandhowaknifeandwashclothcouldjustupanddisappear.Sheasksme,hertoneexasperatedandcontentious.She’slookingforafight.
Ishrugmyshouldersandaskback,“Idon’tknow,Sadie.Areyousureyoureallysawthem?”becausealittlegaslightingneverhurts.
“Idid!”shesays,desperatetomakemebelieveher.
Thisisturningintoabitofashitstormnowthatthepoliceareinvolved,unlikelasttimewhenthingswentsosmoothly.I’musuallysomuchtidieraboutsuchthings.TakeCarrieLaemmer,forexample.AllIhadtodothattimewaswaitforCamilletocome,puttheideainherhead.Camilleissuggestible,asSadieiseasilysuggestible.It’sjustthatSadieisn’ttheviolenttype.Icouldhavedoneitmyself.ButwhywouldI,whenIhadsomeonewillingtodomybiddingforme?Icriedmyeyesout,toldherallaboutCarrie’sthreats,howsheaccusedmeofsexualharassment.IsaidIwishedshewouldjustgoawayandleavemealone.Mycareer,myreputationwouldbegoneifCarriemadegoodonherthreats.They’dtakemeawayfromher;they’dputmeinjail.Itoldher,She’stryingtoruinmylife.She’stryingtoruinourlives.
Ididn’tspecificallyaskCamilletokillher.
Andyet,nevertheless,afewdayslaterCarriewasdead.
Thewayithappenedwasthatoneday,poorCarrieLaemmerwentmissing.Therewasawide-scalesearch.Wordhaditthatshe’dbeenatafratpartythenightbefore,boozingitup.Sheleftthepartyalone,stumbledoutofthehouse,drunk.Shefelldowntheporchstepswhilefellowpartygoerswatchedon.
Carrie’sroommatedidn’treturnhomeuntilthefollowingmorning.Whenshedid,shefoundthatCarrie’sbedhadn’tbeensleptin,thatCarriehadn’tmadeithomethenightbefore.
SecuritycamerasacrosscampuscaughtglimpsesofCarriestaggeringpastthelibrary,fallingdowninthemiddleofthequad.ItwasunlikeCarrie,whocouldholdherliquor,orsosaidthestudentswhosawtheCCTVfootage.Asifitwasbrag-worthy,ahightoleranceforalcohol.Herparentswouldbesoproudtoknowwhattheirfiftygrandayearboughtthem.
Therewerelapsesinthevideosurveillance.Blackholeswherethecamerasdidn’treach.Iwasatafacultyeventthatnight.Peoplesawme.NotthatIwaseverasuspectbecausenoonewas.Becausethattime,unlikethis,thingswentswimmingly.Nopunintended.
Notfarfromcampuswasapollutedcanalwheretheuniversity’screwteamrowed.Thewaterwasmorethantenfeetdeep,contaminatedwithsewage,iftherumorsweretrue.Awoodedrunningpathsatparalleltothecanal,allofitshadowedbytrees.
Afterthreedaysmissing,Carrieturnedupthere,inthecanal.Thepolicecalledherafloaterbecauseofthewayshewasfound,mostofherbodypartsbobbingbuoyantlyonthesurfaceofthecanal,whileherheavyheaddraggedbeneath.
Causeofdeath:accidentaldrowning.Everyoneknewshe’dbeendrunk,stumbling.Everyonesaw.Itwaseasyenoughtoassume,then,thatshetumbleddrunkenlyintothecanalallonherown.
Theentiretyofthestudentpopulationmourned.Flowerswerelaidattheedgeofthecanalbeneathatree.HerparentstraveledfromBoston,leftherchildhoodteddybearthereatthescene.
WhatCamilletoldmewasthatCarrieneverthrashedaboutinthewater.Shenevergaspedandscreamedforhelp.Whathappenedinsteadwasthatshebobbedlistlesslyonthesurfaceforawhile.Hermouthsankbeneaththewater.Itcamebackup,itwentbackdown.
Itwentonthiswayforawhile,headtossedback,eyesglassyandempty.
Ifshebotheredtokick,Camillesaid,shecouldn’ttell.
Shestruggledthatwayfornearlyaminute.Thenshesubmerged,slippingsilentlybeneaththewater.
ThewayCamilledescribeditforme,itsoundedasundramaticasdrowninggets.Asanticlimactic.Boring,ifyouaskme.
Thistime,itwasjustunluckythatSadiegottothatlaundrybeforeme.
I’vebeencareless.BecausethenightwithMorgan,thetransformationfromCamilletoSadiehappenedtooquickly,leavingmetocleanupthemess.HerclothesIburned.TheknifeIburied.IjustnevercountedonSadiedoingthelaundry.WhywouldI?Sheneverdoes.IalsoneverknewthatCamillehadtakenMorgan’snecklace.NotuntilIsawitsittingonthecountertopthismorning.
Camilleshouldhavebeenmorecarefulwhereshestoodthatnight.Sheshouldhavebetteranticipatedthespraysofblood.Itwasn’tlikeitwasherfirstrodeo.Butshecamehomeabloodymess.Itwasuptometowipeherclean,leavingmyfingerprintsontheknifeandwashcloth.Icouldn’tletthepolicefindthat.
Sadierubsatherfaceandsaysagain,“Ijustdon’tknowwhattobelieve.”
“It’sbeenalongday.Astressfulday.Andyouhaven’tbeentakingyourpills,”Isay.Itdawnsonher.Shewenttobedwithouttakingherpills.Sheforgotaboutthemthismorning.Iknowbecausethey’restillwhereIleftthem.
That’swhyshefeelsthisway,outofcontrolasshealwaysdoeswhenshedoesn’thaveherpills.Shereacheseagerlyforthem,swallowsthemdown,knowingthatinashortwhileshe’llbebacktofeelinglikeherself.
Ialmostlaughoutloud.Thepillsdonothing.It’sonlyinSadie’sheadthatsomethinghappens.Theplaceboeffect.Becauseshethinkspoppingapillwillnaturallymakeherfeelbetter.Haveaheadache,popsomeTylenol.Arunnynose?SomeSudafed.
You’dthink,asadoctor,Sadiewouldknowbetter.
Iboughttheemptycapsulesonline.Ifilledthemwithcornstarch,replacedtheonesthedoctorprescribedwiththese.Sadietookthemlikeagoodgirl,butshe’dwhineaboutitattimes,saythepillsmadehertiredandfuzzybecausethat’swhatpillsaresupposedtodo.
Shecanbesosuggestiblesometimes.
ImakeSadiedinner.Ipourheraglassofwine.Isitherdownatthetableand,assheeats,Irubhercold,dirtyfeet.They’remottledandgray.
Shenodsoffatthetable,sotiredshesleepsupright.
Butshesleepsforonlyasecondatbest,andwhensheawakes,shegroggilyasks,voiceslurredwithfatigue,“Howdidyougethomeinthestorm?Ottosaidtheferriesweren’trunning.”
Somanyquestions.Somanyfuckingquestions.
“Watertaxi.”
“Whattimewasthat?”
“I’mnotsure.IntimetogetTate.”
She’scomingtonow,speakingclearly.“Theykeptthekidsatschoolallday?Evenwiththestorm?”
“Theykeptthemthereuntilparentscouldgettothem.”
“Soyouwentstraighttotheelementaryschool?Youdidn’tcomehomefirst?”sheasks.Itellherno.She’scobblingtogetheratimeline.Iwonderwhy.ItellherItookthewatertaxitotheisland,pickedupTate,camehome.ThenIwenttothepublicsafetybuildingforher.
Onlysomeofitistrue.
“WhatwasOttodoingwhenyoucamehome?”sheasks.
I’llhavetoshutherupsoon.Becausehercuriosityistheonlythingstandingbetweenmeandgettingoffscot-free.
SADIE
Istandinthebedroom,rummagingthroughmydrawers,findingcleanpajamastoreplacetheonesIhaveon.Ineedashower.Myfeetareaching,mylegsbruised.Butthesethingsareinconsequentialwhentherearebiggerworriesonmymind.It’sanout-of-bodyexperience.What’shappeningcan’tpossiblybehappeningtome.
IspinsuddenlywiththeknowledgethatI’mnolongeralone.It’sametaphysicalsensation,somethingthatmovesupmyspine.
Ottocomesintothebedroomunannounced.He’snotthereandthenheis.Hissuddenarrivalmakesmeleap,myhandgoingtomyheart.Icometofacehim.Thesignsofhisillnessarenowvisible.
Hewasn’tlying.He’ssick.Hecoughsintoahand,hiseyesvacantandfeverish.
IthinkofthelastconversationIhadwithOtto,whereheaccusedmeofputtingtheknifeinhisbackpack.Ifwhatthatpolicewomansaidistrue,Ididn’tdoit.ButthepartofmeknownasCamilledid.Theguiltisenormous.Ottoisn’tamurderer.Quitepossibly,Iam.
Hesaystome,“Wherewereyou?”andthenagainhecoughs,hisvoicescratchylikeitwasn’tbefore.
Willdidn’ttellthekidswhereIwas.Hedidn’ttellthemIwasn’tcominghome.Howlongwouldhehavewaitedtotellthem?Howwouldhehavesaidit,whatwordswouldhehaveusedtotellourchildrenI’dbeenarrestedbythepolice?Andwhentheyaskedwhy,whatwouldhehavesaid?Thattheirmotherisamurderer?
“Youjustleft,”hesaid,andIseethechildstillinhim.Hewasscared,Ithink,panickedthathecouldn’tfindme.
Isayvaguely,“IhadsomethingIneededtotakecareof.”
“Ithoughtyouwerehere.Ididn’tknowyouweregonetillIsawDadoutside.”
“YousawhimcomehomewithTate?”Iassume.IpictureWill’ssmallsedanfightingitswaythroughthesnow.Ican’timaginehowthecarmadeit.
ButOttotellsmeno,itwasbeforeTatecamehome.Hesaysthatsoonafterwetalkedinthelivingroom,hechangedhismind.Hewashungry.Hewantedthattoastafterall.
Ottosayshecamedowntofindme.ButIwasn’there.Helookedforme,caughtaglimpseofWilltraipsingthroughthebackyardinthesnow.
ButOttoismistaken.Itwasme,notWill,hesawinthebackyardinthesnow.
“Thatwasme,”Itellhim.“Iwastryingtogetthedogsinside,”Isay.Idon’ttellhimabouttheknife.
IrealizenowwhatmusthavereallyhappenedwiththeknifebackinChicago.CamillemusthaveputitinOtto’sbackpack.Thestoryhetoldmeaboutthenight,onthefireescape,whenIconvincedhimtostabhisclassmateswasn’tapipedream.FromOtto’sperspective,ithappenedjustashesaiditdid.Becausehesawme.
Andthedisturbingdrawings,thestrangedolls.Thatwasn’tOtto.Thatwasalsome.
“ItwasDad,”hesays,shakinghishead.
Irealizethatmyhandsareshaking,mypalmssweaty.Irubthemagainstthethighsofmypajamapants,askOttoagainwhathesaid.
“Dadwashere,”herepeats,“inthebackyard.Shoveling.”
“Areyousureitwasyourfather?”Iask.
“Whywouldn’titbe?”heasks,putoffbymyquestionsnow.“IknowwhatDadlookslike,”hesays.
“Ofcourseyoudo,”Isay,feelinglight-headedandbreathless.“Areyousureitwasinthebackyardthatyousawhim?”
I’mgratefulthathe’sspeakingtome.Afterhisdisclosurethisafternoon,I’msurprisedthathewould.I’mremindedofhiswords.I’llneverforgiveyou.Whyshouldhe?I’llneverforgivemyselfforwhatI’vedone.
Ottonodshishead.Hesaysoutloud,“I’msure.”
Willwasshovelingthelawn?Whointheworldshovelsgrass?
IrealizethenthatWillwasn’tshoveling.Hewasdiggingthroughthesnowfortheknife.
ButhowwouldWillhaveknownabouttheknife?IonlytoldOfficerBerg.
Theanswercomestome,shakingmetomycore.
TheonlywayWillwouldknowaboutthatknifeisifhewastheonewhoputitthere.
WILL
Sadieisquicklyworkingoutthatmystoryisfullofholes.SheknowssomeoneinthishousekilledMorgan.Sheknowsitmightbeher.Withalittlesleuthing,she’llsoondiscover—ifshehasn’talready—thatI’mthepuppetmasterpullingthestrings.Andthenshe’lltellBerg.
Iwon’tletthathappen.I’llgetridofherfirst.
Aftersheate,Sadiewentupstairstowashupforbed.She’stired,buthernervesarefrayed.Sleepwon’tcomeeasilytonight.
Whilethepillsshetakesareplacebosonly,thatdoesn’tmeanthatthepillsIpickupatthepharmacy—thoseIsaveforarainyday—aren’tthegenuinething.Combinethemwithalittlewineand,voilà,Ihavemyselfadeadlycocktail.
ThebestpartoftheplanisthatSadie’smentalstateiswelldocumentedbeforewecametoMaine.Addtothatthediscoveriesofthedayanditwouldn’tbesuchastretchtothinkshemightwanttokillherself.
Amurdermeanttolooklikeasuicide.Sadie’swords,notmine.
Ifindthepillshighabovethekitchencabinets.Iusethemortarandpestletocrushthem.Irunthesinktolessenthesound.Thepillsaren’texactlyeasytodissolve,butIhavemyways.Sadiehasneverbeenaversetoaglassofwineafterherpills.Thoughtsheshouldknowbetterbecausesuchthingsdon’tmixwell.
WhatI’manticipatingissomeformofrespiratorydistress.Butwhoreallyknows.There’sawholehostofthingsthatcangowrongwithalethaloverdose.
Idraftasuicidenoteinmymind.Itwillbeeasyenoughtoforge.Ican’tlivewithmyselfIcan’tgoonthisway.I’vedoneahorrible,horriblething.
AfterSadieisdeaditwillbejusttheboys,Imogenandme.ThisisquitethesacrificeI’mmakingformyfamily.Becauseasthebreadwinner,Sadieistheonewiththelifeinsurancepolicy.There’sasuicideclauseinit,whichsaysthecompanywon’tpayoutifSadiekillsherselfwithintwoyearsofthepolicygoingintoeffect.Idon’tknowthatshe’shadittwoyears.Ifshehas,we’reduealumpsumoffivehundredgrand.Ifeelarippleofexcitementatthatprospect.Whatfivehundredthousanddollarscouldbuyme.I’vealwaysthoughtI’dliketoliveinahouseboat.
Ifshehasn’thadthepolicyfortwoyears,we’llgetnothing.
Buteventhen,Ireassuremyself,it’snotasifSadie’sdeathwillbefornaught.There’sstillmuchvalueinit—mostimportant,myfreedom.Therejustwon’tbeanyfinancialgain.
MomentarilyIstopcrushingthepills.Thethoughtofthatsaddensme.Ithinkthatperhapsit’sbesttoshelveSadie’ssuicideuntilI’velookedintothepolicy.Becauseahalfamilliondollarsisalottowaste.
ButthenIreconsider.SilentlyIscoldmyself.Ishouldn’tbesogreedy,somaterialistic.Therearemoreimportantthingstoconsider.
AfterallthatSadiehasdone,Ican’thavemyboyslivingwithamonster.
SADIE
WhywouldWillburyaknifeinthebackyard?Andwhatreasonwouldhehavetodigitupandhideitfromthepolice?
Ifhetooktheknife,didhetakethewashcloth,too?Thenecklace?
Willliedtome.HetoldmehepickedTateupfromschoolandthencamehome,butithappenedtheotherwayaround.Willknewaboutmycondition,thiswayIhaveoftransformingintosomeoneelse,andhedidn’ttellme.Ifheknewtherewasapotentiallyviolentsideofme,whydidn’thegetmehelp?Youwereneverboring,hesaid,suchaglibthingtosayinlightofwhatIknownow.
Willishidingsomething.Willishidingmanythings,Ithink.
Iwonderwheretheknifeisnow.Wherethewashclothandnecklaceare.Ifthepolicedidathoroughsearchofourhome,thenthey’renothere.They’resomewhereelse.UnlessWillhadthesethingsonhisownpersonwhilethepolicesearchedourhomeandhehidthemafterward.Inwhichcase,theymaybehere.
ButifI’mtheonewhokilledMorgan,whywouldWillhidethesethings?Washetryingtoprotectme?Idon’tthinkso.
IconsiderwhatOfficerBergtoldme,thatWillcalledhimandretractedhisalibiformethatnight.Willsaidhewasn’twithmewhenMorganwaskilled.
WasOfficerBerglying,asWillsaidhewas,tryingtopitusagainsteachother?
OrdidithappenasOfficerBergsaid?WasWillincriminatingme?
IconsiderwhatIknowaboutMorgan’smurder.Theboningknife.Thethreateningnotes.Youknownothing.Tellanyoneanddie.I’mwatchingyou.Thisishelpful,butunthinkable.BecauseIcan’tgettheideaofErinandMorganassistersoutofmymind.It’sthemostdamningevidenceofall.Becausethey’rebothdead.
Mymindgetslostonourweddingday,thedayswewelcomedourbabiesintotheworld.TheideathatWill,thatevergentleandcompassionateWill,whomeveryonelikes,whomI’veknownhalfmylife,couldbeakillercripplesme.Ibegintocry.Butit’sasilentcrybecauseithastobe.Ipressmyhandtomymouth,leanagainstthebedroomwall,mybodynearlycollapsing.Ipresshard,stiflingthecrysomewhereinside.Mybodyconvulses.Thetearsstreamfrommyeyes.
Ican’tlettheothershearme.Ican’tletthemseeme.Isteadymyself,tastingWill’sdinnerasitmovesbackupandintomyesophagus.BythegraceofGod,itstaysthere.
IknownowthatWillhadahandinMorgan’smurderbecausehewasinonErin’s,too.Erin’smurder,Ithink,andnotahorribleunfortunateaccident.ButwhykillMorgan?Igobacktothethreateningnotesanddecide:sheknewsomethinghedidn’twanttherestoftheworldtofindout.
WithWilldownstairs,Ibegintosearchourbedroomforthemissingthings:theknife,thewashcloth,Morgan’snecklace.Willistoosmarttohidethesethingsinobviousplaces,likeunderthemattressorinadresserdrawer.
Igotothecloset.IsearchtheinsideofWill’sclothingforsecretpockets,findingnone.
Idroptomyhandsandknees,crawlingacrossthefloorboards.It’sawideplankfloor,whichcouldconceivablyhouseasecretcompartmentbeneath.Ifeelwithmyfingersforlooseboards.Withmyeyes,Iscanforsubtledifferencesintheheightoftheboardsandinthewoodgrain.Nothingimmediatelycatchesmyeye.
Onmyhaunches,Ithink.Iletmyeyeswanderaroundtheroom,wonderingwhereelseWillcouldhidesomethingfrommeifhewantedto.Iconsiderthefurniture,thefloorregister,asmokedetector.Myeyesmovetotheelectricalsockets,whereoneisplacedevenlyinthecenterofeachwall,totalingfour.
Irisetomyfeet,foraginginsidethedresser,underthebed,behindthecurtainpanels.Andthat’swhenafifthelectricaloutletcatchesmyeye,tuckedbehindtheheavydrapery.
Thisoutletisnotevenlyplacedastheothersare—inthedeadcenterofeachwall—butdisproportionatelyplacedinawaythatdoesn’tmakesensetome.It’smerefeettotheleftofanotheroutletand,oncloseexamination,looksslightlydifferentthantherest,thoughanunsuspectingpersonwouldnevernotice.Onlysomeonewhoverymuchbelievedherhusbandhadsomethingtohide.
Iletmygazefalltothedoorway.Ilisten,makingsureWillisn’tonhiswayup.Thehallwayisdark,empty,butit’snotquiet.Tateiswounduptonight.
Idroptomyhandsandknees.Idon’thaveascrewdriver,andsoIplungeathumbnailintotheheadofthescrew.Iturnandturn,warpingthenail,tearingitlowenoughthatitmakesmyfingerbleed.Thescrewcomesout.Insteadofpeelingtheoutletcoverawayfromthewall,itopens,revealingatinysafebehind.Thereisnoknife,nowashcloth,nonecklacethere.Insteadthere’sarollofcash,hundred-dollarbillsmostly,whichIquickly,ham-fistedlytallyup,losingcount,landingsomewherewellintothethousandsofdollars.Myfingerbleedsonthedollarbills.Myheartracesinsideofme.
WhywouldWillbehidingthismoneyinthewall?
WhywouldWillbehidingthismoneyfromme?
There’snothingelsethere.
Idon’treplacethecontentsofthesafe.Ihidethatinmyowndresserdrawer.Idropthedrapesbackintoplace.Istandfromthefloor,pressahandtothewalltosteadymyself.Aroundme,theworldspins.
WhenIgetcontrolofmyself,Iwalklightlyfromthebedroomanddownthestairs.Iholdmybreath.IbitedownhardonmylipasIdescendthestepsoneatatime.
AsIapproachthebottomsteps,IhearWillhummingahappytune.He’sinthekitchen,washingdishes,Ithink.Thesinkwaterruns.
Idon’tgotothekitchen.Igototheofficeinstead,turntheknobandsoftlyclosethedoorbehindmyselfsothereisnoaudiblenoiseofthelatchboltretracting.Idon’tlockthedoor;itwouldrousesuspicionifWillfoundmeintheofficewiththedoorlocked.
Icheckthesearchhistoryfirst.There’snothingthere.It’sallbeenwipedclean,eventheearliersearchIfoundonErin’sdeath.It’sgone.Someonesatatthiscomputerafterme,gotridoftheinternetsearchjustliketheknifeandthewashcloth.
Iopenasearchengine.ItypeinErin’snameformyselfandseewhatIcanfind.Butit’sallthesameasIsawbefore,detailedaccountsofthestormandheraccident.Iseenowthattherewasneveraninvestigationintoherdeath.Itwasruledanaccidentbasedonthecircumstances,namelytheweather.
Idoasearchintoourfinances.Ican’tunderstandwhyWillwouldbehidingsomuchmoneyinthewallsofourhome.Willpaysthebillsforus.Idon’tpaymuchattentiontothemunlessheleavesabilllyingaroundonthecounterformetosee.Otherwisethebillscomeandgowithoutmyknowledge.
Igotothebankwebsite.Thepasswordsforouraccountsareallnearlythesame,somevariationonOtto’sandTate’snamesandbirthdates.Ourcheckingandsavingsaccountsseemtobeintact.Iclosethesiteandlookintoourretirementaccounts,thekids’collegesavings,thecreditcardbalance.Theseseemreasonable,too.
IhearWillcallforme.Hearhisfootstepsgoupandthendownthestairs,lookingforme.“I’mhere,”Icallout,hopinghedoesn’thearthetremorinmyvoice.
Idon’tminimizethescreen.InsteadIenteranothersearch:dissociativeidentitydisorder.Whenhecomesintotheroomandasks,ItellhimI’mtryingtolearnmoreaboutmydisease.Wehaven’tyettalkedabouthowheknewandIdidn’t.It’sjustanotherthinghe’sbeenkeepingfromme.
ButnowthatIknowaboutit,there’sanewworry:thatI’llsimplyupanddisappearatanymomentandsomeoneelsewilltakemyplace.
“IpouredyouaglassofMalbec,”hesays,standingintheofficedoorwaywithit,carryingitinastemlessglass.Hecomesfartherintotheroom,strokesmyhairwithhisfreehand.Myskincrawlsashedoesandittakeseverythinginmenottopullawayfromhistouch.“Wewereoutofthecabernet,”hesays,whichheknowsismyfavoritewine.MalbecisdecidedlymorebitterthanIlike,butitdoesn’tmattertonight.I’lldrinkanything.
HepeersovermyshoulderatthewebsiteI’velandedon,ageneralmedicalsitethatlistssymptomsandtreatment.“Ihopeyouaren’tupsetthatIdidn’ttellyou,”hesaysbymeansofanapology.“You’dtakeithard,Iknew.Andyouweremanagingtheconditionquitewell.Ikeptaneyeonyou,madesureyouwerefine.IfI’dhaveeverthoughtthingswereturningproblematic…”
Hestopsabruptlythere.Iglanceuptofacehim.
“Thankyou,”Isay,forthewine,ashesetstheglassonthedesktopandtellsme,“Aftereverythingyou’vebeenthroughtoday,Ithoughtmaybeyoucoulduseadrink.”
Icouldmostcertainlyuseadrink,somethingtocalmandsootheme.Ireachfortheglassandangleittowardmylips,imaginingtheanesthetizingsensationasitslipsdownmythroatanddullsmysenses.
ButmyhandshakesasIdo,andsoIputtheglassinstantlyback,notwantingWilltoseehownervousIambecauseofhim.
“Don’tworryyourselfoverthis,”hesays.Withtwofreehands,hemassagesmyshoulders,upmyneck.Hishandsarewarmandassertive.Hisfingerswormtheirwayontomyscalp,throughmyhair,kneadingthebaseofmyskullwhereI’mpronetotensionheadaches.
“I’vedonesomeresearchmyself,”Willsays.“Psychotherapyistherecommendedtreatment.Therearenomedicationsthattreatthisthing,”asifit’scancerthatI’vegot.
Iwonderifheknowssomuch,whyheneversuggestedpsychotherapybefore.Perhapsit’sbecauseI’veseentherapistsinthepast.Perhapsit’sbecausehemistakenlybelievedIwasgettingtreatment.
Orperhapsit’sbecauseheneverwantedmetogetbetter.
“We’llcomeupwithaplaninthemorning,”hesays,“afteryou’vehadagoodnight’ssleep.”
Hewithdrawshishandsfrommyhead.Hestepstothesideofthechair,andwithasoftspin,heturnsthechairsothatI’mlookingathim.
Idon’tlikethecontrolhehasoverme.
Willwaitsabeat,andthenhedropstohisknees.Helooksmeintheeye.Saysdotingly,“Iknowthishasbeenahellofaday.Tomorrowwillbebetter,forbothofus.”
“Areyousure?”Iask,andhetellsme,“Iam.Ipromise.”
Andthenhecupsmyfaceinhishands.Herunshislipsovermine,softly,delicately,asifI’measilybroken.HetellsmeImeantheworldtohim.Thathelovesmemorethanwordscouldeversay.
Fromupstairs,there’sathump.Tatebeginstoscream.He’sfallenfrombed.
Willdrawsback,eyesclosed.Inamoment,herisesuptostanding.
Henodstowardtheglassofwine.“Justhollerifyou’dlikemore.”
Heleaves,andonlythendoIcatchmybreath.Ihearhisfootstepsonthestairs,hisvoicecallouttoTatethathe’sonhisway.
WILL
ForassmartasSadieis,she’salsoutterlyclueless.There’salotshedoesn’tknow.Likehow,ifIlogintoherGoogleaccountfromanotherdevice—asIdofromthebedroomnow—Icanseehersearchhistory.
She’sbeenuptonogood.Nosingaroundonthebank’swebsite.Notthatshe’llfindanythingthere.
Butshefoundotherthings.
Itwasthebloodthatgaveitaway,asIfirstcameintothebedroomafewminutesago.Fourstraydropsofitonthefloor,fromthedoortothecurtains.Iwenttothebedroomcurtains,lookedbehind,sawthattheoutletcoverhunglightlyaslant.Iopenedthesafe.Themoneywasgone.
Thatavaricioushog,Ithought.Whathasshedonewithit?
Nowthatshe’sfoundthemoney,itwon’ttakelongforSadietofigureoutI’vebeenrobbingImogen’strustfund.Thegirlisapestbutshe’sworthkeepingaroundjustforthat.I’mslowlycreatingmyownlittlenestegg.
Accordingtohersearchhistory,Sadie’salsobeenlookingintoErinandMorganonline.Connectingthedots.
Perhapsshe’snotascluelessasIthought.
IputTatetobed.He’sglumfromthefall.IgivehimBenadryl,tellhimitwillhelphislittlenogginfeelbetter.Igiveadabmorethantherecommendeddose.Ican’thavehimawaketonight.
IkissthespotonTate’sheadwhereithurts,gethiminbed.Heasksforabedtimestory,andIoblige.I’mnotworried.NomatterwhatSadiefinds,itwillbeamootpointwhenshedrinksherwine.
It’sonlyamatteroftime.
SADIE
IhavetofindawaytocallOfficerBergandtellhimwhatI’vefound.Hewon’tbelieveme.ButIhavetotellhimanyway.He’llbeobligatedtolookintoit.
Ihaven’tseenmycellphonesincethemorning.ThelasttimeIsawit,itwasinthekitchen,thesameplaceourlandlineis.That’swhereIneedtogo.
Buttheideaofleavingtheofficescaresme.BecauseifWillcouldkillErin,hecouldkillme.
ItakeaseriesofdeepbreathsbeforeIgo.Itrytoactnonchalant.Icarrymywinewithme.Ibringaletteropenerjustincase,withasharp-enoughblade.Islideitinthewaistbandofmypajamapants,worrieditwillfall.
Ontheothersideoftheofficedoor,I’mvulnerable.Thehouseisoddlyquietanddark.Thekidsareasleep.Noonetoldmegood-night.
Alightglowsinthekitchen.It’snotbright.Astovelightonly,whichIgoto,likeamothtoaporchlight,tryinghardtoshakethefeelingthatWillisbehindme,thatWilliswatchingme,thatWillisthere.
IfhekilledErin,howdidhedoit?Wasitinafitofrage,orwasitpremeditated?AndwhataboutMorgan?How,exactly,didshedie?
Ifeeltheletteropenerslippingdeeperintomypants.Ihoistitup.Myhandsaretrembling,unsteady,andsothewinespillsasIdo,theglassgettingcockedtoofartooneside.Ilicktherimoftheglasstowipeitclean.Ipursemylips,notlikingthebittertasteoftheMalbec.Regardless,Itakeanothersip,forceitdownastearsprickmyeyes.
AnoisefrombehindstartlesmeandIturn,seeingonlytheshadowyfoyer,theindefinitediningroom.Iholdstill,watching,waiting,formovements,forsound.Thisoldhomehassomanydarkcorners,somanyplaceswheresomeonecanhide.
“Will?”Isaylightly,expectinghimtoreply,buthedoesn’t.Noonedoes.Noone’sthere,oratleastIdon’tthinksomeoneisthere.Iholdmybreath,listenforfootsteps,forbreathing.There’snone.Abluntheadachelingers,worseninginintensityasthemomentsgoby,andIfindmyselfbecominghotandbotheredbecauseofit.Undermyarmpitsandbetweenmylegs,theskinistacky.Itakeanothersipofthewine,trytocalmmynerves.Thewinedoesn’ttasteasbadthistime.I’mgettingusedtothebitterness.
Iseemyphoneonthetable.Iquicklycrosstheroomandgrabforit,stiflingacrywhenIturnitovertoseethatthebatteryisdeadagain.Itwilltakeacoupleofminutesforthephonetochargewellenoughtouse.Thereisanotheroption,thelandline,whichiscorded.Theonlywaytouseitishereinthekitchen.I’llhavetobequick.
Iwalkbackacrossthekitchen.Igrabthelandline,adatedthing.OfficerBerg’sbusinesscardistuckedintheletterholderonthecounter,whichI’mgratefulforbecause,withoutmycellphone,Idon’thavemycontacts.Idialthenumberonthecard.Iwaitdesperatelyforthepoliceofficertoanswer,sippingnervouslyfromtheglassofMalbecasIdo.
WILL
Ifollowherasshegoesfromoneroomtothenext.Shelooksforme.Shedoesn’tknowthatI’mhere,closerthanshethinks.
She’smonkeyingaroundinthekitchennow.ButwhenIhearthespinofarotarydialIknowit’stimetointervene.
Icomeintotheroom.Sadiewhirlsaroundtofaceme,eyeswide.Adeerinheadlightsiswhatsheis,clutchingthephonetoherear.She’sscaredshitless.Beadsofsweatedgeherhairline.Herskiniscolorless,damp.Herbreathingisuneven.Icanpracticallyseeherheartthumpinginherchest,likeascaredlittlebird.It’sreassuringtoseethatathirdofthewine’sbeendrunk.
I’montoher.ButdoessheknowthatIam?
“Whoareyoucalling?”Iaskcalmly,justtoseehergrappleforalie.ButSadie’sneverbeenagoodliar,andsoinsteadshe’sadeaf-mute.It’stelling,isn’tit?That’showIknowthatsheknowsthatIknow.
Mytoneshifts.I’mtiredofthisgame.
“Putthephonedown,Sadie.”
Shedoesn’t.Istepcloser,snatchthephonefromher,setitbackonthecradle.Shetriestoholdontoit,butSadielacksphysicalstrength.Thephonegiveseffortlessly.
“That,”Itellher,“wasnotyourbrightestidea.”BecausenowI’mmad.
Iweighmyoptions.Ifshehasn’tdrunkenough,Imayhavetocoerceherintofinishingthewine.Butgaggingandvomitingwouldbecounterintuitive.Ithinkofanotherway.Ihadn’tbeenplanningondisposingofabody,nottonight,butit’dbejustthesametomakeBergbelievesheranawayasitwouldtomakeitlooklikeasuicide.Alittlemorelaboriousthanoriginallythought,butstilldoable.
Don’tgetmewrong,Ilovemywife.Ilovemyfamily.I’mquitetornupaboutthis.
Butit’sunavoidable,anecessaryconsequenceofthecanofwormsthatSadiehasopened.Ifonlyshe’dhaveleftwellenoughalone.It’sherfaultthisishappening.
SADIE
Ifeelwoozy.Disoriented.Panic-stricken.BecauseWillisangry,lividinawaythatI’veneverseenhimbefore.Idon’tknowthismanwhostandsbeforeme,glaringintimidatinglyatme.HelooksvaguelylikethemanImarried,andyetdifferent.Hiswordsareclipped,hisvoicehostile.Hejostlesthephonefrommyhand,andthat’showIknowIwasn’timaginingthings.IfIhadanydoubtsaboutWill’spartinMorgan’sdeath,they’regone.Willdidsomething.
Itakeastepbackforeachstephedrawsnear,knowingthatsoonmybackwillbetothewall.Ihavetothinkquickly.Butmymindisfoggy,thick.Willgoesoutoffocusbeforeme,butIseehishands,comingatme,inslowmotion.
Iremembertheletteropenerjustthen,tuckedawayinthewaistbandofmypants.Igropeforit,butmyhandsaretrembling,careless;theygetcaughtupinthepants’elastic,knockingtheletteropenerloosebymistake,sendingitslidingdownmypantleg,crashingtothefloor.
Will’sresponsetimeisfarfasterthanmine.Hehasn’tbeendrinking.Ifeeldrunkalready,thealcoholhittingmeharderthanitusuallydoes.Willleansdowntothegroundquickerthanme,pluckstheletteropenerfromthefloorwithnimblehands.Heholdsitupformetosee,asks,“Whatdidyouthinkyouweregoingtodowiththis?”
Themeagerkitchenlightingglintsofftheendofthestainless-steelblade.Hepointsitatme,daresmetoflinch,andIdo.Hislaughisheinous,mockingme.
Howwellwethinkweknowthoseclosesttous.
Andthen,whatashocktothesystemitistofindoutwedon’tknowthematall.
Inhisanger,hisrage,henolongerlooksfamiliar.
Idon’tknowthisman.
“Didyouthinkyouweregoingtohurtmewiththis?”heasks,stabbinghispalmwithit,andIseethat,thoughtheedgeissharp,sharpenoughtoslicepaperwith,thepointisdull.Itdoesnothingbutreddenhispalm.Itleavesnoothermark.“Didyouthinkyouweregoingtokillmewiththis?”
Mytonguethickensinsideofmymouth.Itmakesithardertospeak.
“WhatdidyoudotoMorgan?”Iask.Iwon’tanswerhisquestions.
Hetellsme,stilllaughing,thatitwasn’twhathedidtoher,butwhatIdidtoherthatmatters.Myeyesturndry.Iblinkhard,aseriesoftimes.Anervoustic.Ican’tstop.
“Youdon’tremember,doyou?”heasks,reachingouttotouchme.Idrawswiftlyback,thwackingmyheadonthecabinet.Thepainradiatesthroughmyscalp,andIwince,ahandgoinginvoluntarilytoit.
Hesayscondescendingly,“Ouch.Lookslikethathurt.”
Idropmyhand.Iwon’tsatisfyhimwithareply.
Ithinkofallthetimeshewassosolicitous,socaring.HowtheWillIonceknewwouldhaverunforicewhenIhurtmyself,wouldhavehelpedmetoachair,pressedtheicetomyachinghead.Wasthatallinjest?
“Itwasn’tmewhodidsomethingtoMorgan,Sadie,”hesays.“Itwasyou.”
ButIcan’trememberit.I’moftwomindsaboutit,notknowingifIdidordidn’tkillMorgan.It’saterriblething,notknowingifyoutookanother’slife.“YoukilledErin,”Isay,theonlythingIcanthinktosayback.
“ThatIdid,”hesays,andthoughIknowit,hearinghimadmittoitmakesitsomehowworse.Tearswellinmyeyes,threatentofall.
“YoulovedErin,”Isay.“Youweregoingtomarryher.”
“Alltrue,”hesays.“Theproblemwas,Erindidn’tlovemeback.Idon’ttakewelltorejection.”
“WhatdidMorganeverdotoyou?”Icryout,andhesmileswickedlyandremindsmethatI’mtheonewhokilledMorgan.
“Whatdidsheeverdotoyou?”hequips,andIcanonlyshakemyheadinreply.
Hetellsme.“Idon’twanttoboreyouwiththedetails,butMorganwasErin’skidsister,whomadeitherlife’smissiontoblamemeforErin’sdeath.Whiletherestoftheworldsawitasanunfortunateaccident,Morgandidnot.Shewouldn’tgiveitup.Youtookmattersintoyourownhands,Sadie.Thankstoyou,I’vecomethroughthisthingunscathed.”
“Thatdidn’thappen!”Iscream.
He’stheepitomeofcalm.Hisvoiceiseven,notmercuriallikemine.“Butitdid,”hesays.“Therewasthismomentwhenyoucameback.Youweresoproudofwhatyou’daccomplished.Youhadsomuchtosay,Sadie.Likehowshewouldnevergetbetweenusagain,becauseyoutookcareofher.”
“Ididn’tkillher,”Iassert.
Hislaughisagiggle.“Youdid,”hesays.“Andyoudiditforme.Idon’tthinkI’veeverlovedyouasmuchasIdidthatnight.”Hebeams,claims,“AllIdidwastelltheGod’shonesttruth.ItoldyouwhatwouldhavebecomeofmeifMorganmadegoodonherthreats.IfshewasabletoprovetothepolicethatIkilledErin,Iwouldhavegonetojailforalong,longtime.Maybeforever.Theywouldhavetakenmeawayfromyou,Sadie.Itoldyouwewouldn’teverseeeachother,wewouldn’teverbetogetheragain.ItwouldbeallMorgan’sfaultifthathappened.Morganwasthecriminal,notme.Itoldyouthatandyouunderstood.Youbelievedme.”
Thelookonhisfaceistriumphant.“Younevercouldlivewithoutme,couldyou?”heasks,lookingquizzicallyatme,likeapsychopath.
“What’sthematter,Sadie?”heasks,whenIsaynothing.“Catgotyourtongue?”
Hiswords,hisnonchalancemakemeseered.Hislaughmakesmeenraged.It’sthelaugh,theawful,abominablelaugh,thatgetsthebetterofmeintheend.It’stheself-satisfiedlookonWill’sface,thewayhestandsthere,headcockedatanangle.It’sthecomplacentsmile.
Willmanipulatedmycondition.Hemademedothis.Heputanideainmyhead—inthepartofmeknownasCamille—knowingthispoorwoman,thisversionofme,wouldhavedoneanythinginthewholewideworldforhim.Becauseshelovedhimsomuch.Becauseshewantedtobewithhim.
Ifeelsaddenedforher.Andangryforme.
Itcomesfromsomewherewithin.Nothoughtcomeswithit.
IlungeatWillwithallmymight.IregretitassoonasIdo.Becausethoughhestumblessome,heismuchlargerthanme.Muchstronger,muchmoresolid.Andagain,hehasn’tbeendrinking.Ishovehimandhestepsback.Buthedoesn’tfalltothefloor.Heinchesbackward,latchingdownonacountertoptoregainhisbalance.Helaughsevenmorebecauseofit,becauseofmypaltryshove.
“That,”hetellsme,“wasabadidea.”
Iseethewoodenblockofknivesonthecountertop.Hefollowsthegazeofmyeyes.
Iwonderwhichofuswillgettoitfirst.
WILL
She’sweakasakitten.It’slaughable,really.
Butit’stimetoendthisthingonceandforall.Nouseputtingitoffanylonger.
Icomeatherquickly,wrapmyhandsaroundthatprettylittleneckofhersandsqueeze.Herairflowisrestrictedbecauseofit.Iwatchonaspanicsetsin.Iseeitinhereyesfirst,thewaytheywideninfright.Herhandsclampdownonmine,scratchingherlittlekittenclawstogetmetorelease.
Thiswon’ttakelong,onlyabouttensecondsuntilshelosesconsciousness.
Sadiecan’tscreambecauseofthepressureonherthroat.Otherthanafewinsubstantialgasps,allisquiet.Sadieneverhasbeenmuchofaconversationalistanyway.
Manualstrangulationisanintimatething.It’smuchdifferentthanotherwaysofkilling.Youhavetobeincloseproximitytowhoeveritisyou’rekilling.There’smanuallaborinvolved,unlikewithagunwhereyoucanfireoffthreeroundsfromtheothersideoftheroomandcallitaday.Butbecauseoftheworkinvolved,there’sasenseofpridethatcomes,too,ofaccomplishment,likepaintingahouseorbuildingashedorchoppingfirewood.
Theupside,ofcourse,isthereisn’tmuchofamesstoclean.
“Ican’ttellyouhowsorryIamit’scometothis,”IsaytoSadieasherarmsandlegsflailandshetriespatheticallytofightback.She’stiringout.Hereyesrollback.Herblowsaregettingweaker.Shetriestogougemyeyesoutwithherfingertips,butherthrustisn’tstrongorquick.Idrawback,hereffortswasted.There’saprettytingetoSadie’sskin.
Ipressharder,say,“You’retoosmartforyourowngood,Sadie.Ifonlyyou’dhaveletitbe,thiswouldn’tbehappening.ButIcan’thaveyougoaroundtellingpeoplewhatIdid.I’msureyouunderstand.Andsinceyoucan’tkeepyourownmouthclosed,”Itellher,“it’suptometoshutyouupforgood.”
SADIE
Ideliberatelycollapse,myweightsuspendedonlybyhishandsaroundmyneck.It’sadesperateattempt,alast-ditcheffort.BecauseifIfail,Iwilldie.Asmyvisionblurs,fadinginandoutinthosefinalmoments,Iseemychildren.IseeOttoandTatelivingherealonewithWill.
Ihavetofight.Formychildren’ssake,Icannotdie.Icannotleavethemwithhim.
Ihavetolive.
Thepaingetsworsebeforeitgetsbetter.Becausewithoutthestrengthofmylegsandmyspinetoholdmeupright,hisgriponmyneckintensifies.Hebearstheweightofmyentirebodyinhishands.There’sapricklingsensationinmylimbs.Theygonumb.Thepainisexcruciating,inmyheadandinmyneck,andIthinkthatIwilldie.Ithinkthatthisiswhatitfeelsliketodie.
Inhisarms,Iamlimp.
Thinkinghe’ssucceededinhistask,Willloosenshishold.Heeasesmybodytothefloor.He’sgentleatfirst,butthendropsmethelastcouplesofinches.Heisn’ttryingtobegentle.He’stryingtobequiet.Mybodyfalls,collidingwiththecoldtile.Itrynottoreact,butthepainisalmosttoomuchtobear—notfromthefallitself,butfromwhatthismanhasalreadydonetome.There’sthegreatestneedtocough,togasp,tothrowmyhandstomythroat.
ButifIwanttoliveIhavetosuppresstheneed,tolietheremotionlessinstead,unblinkingandunbreathing.
Willturnshisbackonme.OnlythendoIstealasingleshort,shallowbreath.Ihearhim.Hestartsmakingplansofhowtogetridofmybody.He’smovingquicklybecausethekidsarejustupstairsandheknowshecan’tdelay.
AnunwantedthoughtcomestomeandIfillwithhorror.IfOttoorsweetlittleTateweretocomedownnowandseeus,whatwouldWilldo?Wouldhekillthem,too?
Willunlocksandpullsopentheslidingglassdoor.Hetugsopenthescreen.Idon’twatch.ButIlistenandhearhimdothesethings.
Hefindshiskeysonthecounter.There’sthesoundofmetalscrapingagainsttheFormicacountertop.Thekeysjangleinhishandandthenarequiet.Iimaginehe’sforcedthemintohisjeanspocket,makingplanstodragmeoutthebackdoorandintohiscar.Butwhatthen?I’mnomatchforWill.Hecaneasilyoverpowerme.TherearethingsIcanuseinthekitchentodefendmyselfwith.Butoutside,thereisnothing.OnlythedogswholoveWillmorethantheyloveme.
IfWillgetsmethroughthedoors,Idon’tstandachance.Ineedtothink,andIneedtothinkquickly,beforehe’sabletohaulmeout.
Stillasastatueonthekitchenfloor,I’masgoodasdeadtohim.
Hedoesn’tcheckforapulse.Hisoneandonlymistake.
It’snotlostonme,thefactthatWilldoesn’tshowremorse.Hedoesn’tgrieve.Heisn’tsadthatIamgone.
Willisallbusinessasheleansovermybody.Hequicklyassessesthesituation.Ifeelhisnearnesstome.Iholdmybreath.Thebuildupofcarbondioxideburnsinsideofme.ItbecomesmorethanIcanbear.IthinkthatIwillinvoluntarilybreathe.That,asWillwatcheson,I’llnolongerbeabletoholdmybreath.IfIbreathe,hewillknow.AndifhediscoversI’maliveasI’mlyingflatonmybackasIam,I’llhavenocapacitytofightback.
Myheartbeatshardandfastinfear.Iwonderhowhecan’thearit,howhecan’tseethemovementthroughthethinpajamashirt.Salivacollectsinsidemythroat,allbutgaggingme,andI’moverwhelmedbythegreatestneedtoswallow.Tobreathe.
Hetugsonmyarmsbeforereconsidering.Hegrabsmebytheanklesinsteadandpullsroughly.Thetilefloorishardagainstmybackandittakeseverythinginmenottogrimacefromtheabradingpain,buttobelimpinstead,deadweight.
Idon’tknowhowfarawayfromthedoorIam.Idon’tknowhowmuchfartherwehavetogo.Willgruntsashemoves,hisbreathwheezy.I’mheavierthanhethought.
Think,Sadie,think.
Hepullsmeahandfuloffeet.Thenhestopstogatherhisbreath.Mylegsdroptothefloor;hegetsabettergriponmyankles.Hetugsgrufflyinshortbursts.Islide,inchesatatime,knowingthetimetosavemyselfisrunningout.
I’mnearingthebackdoor.Thecoldairiscloserthanitwasbefore.
Ittakesgreatwillpowertogetmyselftofightback.ToletWillknowthatI’malive.BecauseifIdon’tsucceed,Iwilldie.ButIhavetofightback.BecauseI’lldieeitherwayifIdon’t.
Willletsgoofmyfeetagain.Hetakesabreath.Hehelpshimselftoasipofwaterstraightfromthetap.Ihearthewaterrun.Ihearhistonguelapatitlikeadog.Thewaterturnsoff.Heswallowshard,comesbacktome.
Whenheleansdowntogathermyanklesbackintohishands,IuseeverybitofstrengthIhavetositsuddenlyupright.Ibracemyselfandsmashmyheadintohis.Itrytousehisgrowingfatiguetomyadvantage,hisstateofimbalance.Hisequilibriumisthrownoffbecausehe’shunchedovermybody,pulling.Forthisonesecond,Ihavetheupperhand.
Hishandsgotohishead.Hestaggerssuddenlybackward,losingbalance,fallingtothefloor.Iwastenotime.Ipressonthegroundandforcemyselftomyfeet.
Butasthebloodrushesdown,theworldaroundmespins.Myvisionfadestoblack.InearlycollapsebeforetheadrenalinerushesinandonlythencanIsee.
Ifeelhishandsonmyankle.He’sonthefloor,tryingtopullmedownwithhim.Hecallsmenamesashedoes,nolongerworriedaboutbeingquiet.“Youbitch.Youstupid,stupidbitch,”hesays,thismanImarried,whovowedtolovemetilldeathdouspart.
MykneesbuckleandIcollapsetothefloorbesidehim,fallingfast.Ilandfacedown,mynosehittingthefloorsothatitbeginstobleed.Thebloodisprofuse,turningmyhandsred.
Igetquicklytomyhandsandknees.Willcomesatmefrombehind,attemptingtoreachovermeformyneckasIstruggletocrawlawayfromhim.Ikickbackward.Ihavetogetawayfromhim.
Myhandsreachdesperatelyforthecountertop.Theylatchon,tryingtopullmeupward,butjustassoonlosetheirgrip.Myhandsaresweaty,myholdweak.Everywherethereisblood.Itcomesfrommynose,mymouth.Ican’tholdontothecountertop.Islipaway,fallingbacktothefloor.
Thewoodenblockofknivessitsjustoutofreach,mockingme.
Itryagain.Willgrapplesagainformyankle.Hetakesmebythelowerlegandpulls.Ikickhard,butitisn’tenough.TheblowsonlyleavehimmomentarilydazedbutI’mgrowingtired,myeffortsweakening.Ifallfacedownagainonthefloor,bitingmytongue.Ican’tkeepdoingthis.Theadrenalineinmybodyhasslowed,thewine,thelethargytakingover.
Idon’tknowthatIhaveitinmetogoon.
ButthenIthinkofOtto,ofTate,andIknowthatImustgoon.
I’monthefloorfacedownasWillmountsmyback.Alltwohundredpoundsofhimbeardownonme,forcingmeface-firstintothekitchenfloor.Icouldn’tscreamifIwantedto.Icanbarelysuckinabreath.Myarmsarepinnedbeneathme,gettingcrushedbyWill’sweightandmine.
Ifeelhishandsinmyhair,massagingmyscalp.It’soddlygentle.Sensuous.Ifeelhissatisfactionathavingmeinthisposition.
Timeslowsdown.Itrytopressupagainsttheweightofhim,butgonowhere.Ican’tfindmyarms.
Willrunshisfingersthroughmyhair.Breathlesslyhesaysmyname.“Oh,Sadie,”heexhales.HeenjoysthatI’mpinnedtothegroundasIam,inapowerlessposition,aslavetomymaster.“Mylovelywife,”hesays.
HeleansincloseenoughthatIfeelhisbreathonmyneck.Herunshislipsthelengthofit.Hebitesgentlyonmyearlobe.Ilethim.Ican’tmakehimstop.
Hewhispersintomyear,“Ifonlyyouwouldhaveleftitalone.”
Andthenheclutchesahandfulofmyhairinhistackyhand,hoistsmyfaceinchesfromthefloorandsmashesitbackdowntothetile.
I’veneverfeltsuchpaininmylife.Ifmynosewasn’tbrokenbefore,itisnow.
Hedoesitagain.
Whetherit’senoughtoeventuallykillme,Idon’tknow.Butsoonitwillrendermeunconscious.Andthere’snotellingwhathewilldothen.
Thisisit,Itellmyself.ThisiswhereIwilldie.
Butthensomethinghappens.
It’sWill,notme,whomakesasound,somestrange,inarticulatescreamofpain.Ifeelsuddenlyweightless,notknowingwhat’shappened.
AbreathlaterIrealizethatthereasonfortheweightlessnessisthathe’sfallenfrommybody.He’sperchedinchestomyside,strugglingtogettohisfeet,thoughhishandsareathisheadandhe,likeme,isbleeding.Hisbloodcomesfromhishead,wherethereisasuddenlacerationthatwasn’ttherebefore.
Icranemyachingnecktosee.Ifollowthegazeofhiseyes—nowshroudedinfear—toseeImogenstandinginthekitchendoorway.Thefireplacepokerisinhersteadyhands,andit’sraisedoverherhead.Sheblursinandoutbeforeme,untilI’mnotcertainshe’srealoraresultofaheadinjury.Herfaceisdeadpan.Thereisnoemotion.Noanger,nofear.ShecomesforwardandIbracemyselfforthedebilitatingpainofthefireplacepokerasitstrikesme.Iclenchmyeyes,myjaw,knowingtheendisnear.Imogenwillkillme.Shewillkillthebothofus.Sheneverwantedushere.
Igrindmyteeth.Butthepaindoesn’tcome.
IhearWillgruntinstead.Iopenmyeyestoseehimstumbleandfalltotheground,callingImogennames.Ilooktoher.OureyesmeetandIknow.
Imogenisnotheretokillme.She’scometosaveme.
Iseethedeterminationinhereyeassheraisestheweaponforathirdtime.
ButonedeathonImogen’sconscienceisenough.Ican’tletherdothisforme
Ispringtomyunsteadyfeet.It’snoteasy.Everypartofmeaches.Thebloodisabundant,inmyeyessothatIcanhardlysee.
Ilungeforward.Ithrowmyselfatthewoodenknifeblock,gettinginbetweenWillandImogen.Itakethechefknifeintomygrasp;there’snofeeling,noawarenessofthehandleinmyhand.
Ibarelyregisterthisman’sface,hiseyesasherisestostandingand,atthesametime,Iturntofacehim.
Iseethemovementofhismouth.Hislipsmove.Butthere’saringinginmyears.Ican’tstandit.Ithinkthatitwillneverstop.
Butthenitdoesstop.AndIhearsomething.
Ihearthatheinouslaughashesaystome,“You’dneverdoit,youstupidcunt.”
Hecomesatme,attemptstograbtheknifefrommyhands.Hegetsaholdofitforaminute,andIthink,inmyweakness,thatIwilllosetheknifetohim.ThatwhenIdohewilluseittokillbothImogenandme.
Ipullviolentlyback,regainingfullpossessionoftheknife.
Hecomesatmeagain.
Idon’tthinkthistime.Ijustdo.Ireact.
Iplungetheknifeintohischest,feelingnothingasthetipofthechefknifecutsrightthroughhim.Iwatchithappen.Imogen,behindme,watches,too.
Thebloodcomesnext,sprayingandoozingfromhisbodyasalltwohundredpoundsofhimcollapsestothefloorwithadullthud.
Ihesitateatfirst,watchingthebloodpoolbesidehim.Hiseyesareopen.He’salive,thoughthelifeisquicklyleavinghisbody.Helookstome,abeseechingglanceasifhethinksImightjustdosomethingtohelphimsurvive.
Anarmrises,reachesenfeebledforme.Buthecan’treachme.
Hewon’tevertouchmeagain.
Iaminthebusinessofsavinglives,nottakingthem.Butthereareexceptionstoeveryrule.“Youdon’tdeservetolive,”Isay,feelingempoweredbecausethere’snotremor,noshakinginmyvoiceasIsayit.Myvoiceisasstillasdeath.
Heblinksonce,twice,andthenitstops,themovementofhiseyescomingtoastop,asdotheheavingmovementsofhischest.Hestopsbreathing.
Ifalltomyhandsandkneesbesidehim.Icheckforapulse.
It’sonlythen,whenWillisdead,thatIriseandturntoImogen,foldingherintomyarms,andtogetherwecry.
SADIE
OneYearLater…
Istandonthebeach,staringoutattheocean.Theshorelineisrocky,creatingtidepoolsthatTatesplashesbarefootin.Thedayiscool,midfifties,butunseasonablywarmforthistimeofyear,comparedtowhatwe’reusedto.It’sJanuary.Januaryisoftenbitterlycold,thickwithsnow.Buthereit’snot,andI’mgratefulforitasI’mgratefulforallthewaysinwhichthislifeisdifferentfromourlifebefore.
OttoandImogenhavegoneaheadtoclimbrockformationsthatextendoutintothesea.Thedogsarewiththem,tetheredtoleashes,eagerasalwaystoclimb.IstaybehindwithTate,watchasheplays.Ashedoes,Isitonmyheels,examinetherockybeachwithmyhands.
It’sbeenayearnowsincewethrewintoahatthenamesoftheplaceswewantedtogo.Adecisionlikethatshouldn’tbetakenlightly.Andyetwehadnofamilytospeakof,noconnections,noties.Theworldwasouroyster.Imogenwastheonetoreachintothehatandpick,andbeforeweknewit,wewereCalifornia-bound.
I’veneverbeenonetosugarcoatortolie.OttoandTateknownowthattheirfatherisn’tthemanheledustobelievehewas.Theydon’tknowallthedetailsofit.
Self-defense,itwasdecidedinthedaysafterWill’sdeath,thoughIdon’tknowifOfficerBergwouldhavebelieveditifImogen,hidingjustontheothersideofthekitchendoorthatnight,hadn’tmanagedtorecordWill’sconfessiononherphone.
Shealsomanagedtosavemylife.
HoursafterWillwasdead,ImogenplayedtherecordingforOfficerBerg.Iwasinthehospital,receivingtreatmentformywounds.Ididn’tknowaboutituntillater.
You’retoosmartforyourowngood,Sadie.Ifonlyyou’dhaveletitbe,thiswouldn’tbehappening.ButIcan’thaveyougoaroundtellingpeoplewhatIdid.I’msureyouunderstand.Andsinceyoucan’tkeepyourownmouthclosed,it’suptometoshutyouupforgood.
ImogenandInevertalkedabouthowshehadn’trecordedtheentireconversationthatnight,thepartswhereWillmadeitclearIwastheonetophysicallycarryoutMorgan’smurder.OnlysheandIwouldeverknowthewholetruth.NoevidenceofmyinvolvementinMorgan’smurderwasfound.Iwasexonerated.Willwaschargedwithbothwomen’sdeaths.
Butthatwasn’ttheendofit.Monthsoftherapyfollowed,withmuchmoretocome.MytherapistisawomannamedBeverlywhosepurple-dyedhairseemsincongruouswithherfifty-eightyears.Andyetit’sperfectlysuitedtoher.Shehastattoos,aBritishaccent.Onegoalofourtimetogetheristolocateandidentifymyaltersandreunitethemintoonefunctioningwhole.Anotheristofacehead-onthememoriesmymindhashiddenfromme,thoseofmystepmotherandherabuse.We’reslowlysucceeding.
ThekidsandIhaveafamilytherapist.HisnameisBob,whichdelightsTate.ItmakeshimthinkofSpongeBob.Imogenhasherowntherapist,too.
Ottogoestoaprivateartacademy,finallyfindingaworldwherehefeelshefitsin.Gettinghimthereisasacrifice.Thetuitionissteepandthecommutelong.ButthereisnooneintheworldwhodeservesthishappinessmorethanOtto.
Iwatchasoceanwavespoundtheshoreline.ThesprayofthewavessplashesTateandhegiggleswithglee.
Thisbeachwasoncethesiteofacitytrashdump.Longago,residentstossedtheirtrashoverthecliffsandintothePacificOcean.Inthedecadesthatfollowed,theoceansmoothedandpolishedthattrash.Itspititbackoutontotheshoreline.Exceptthatbythen,timeandnaturehadrepurposedthetrashintosomethingextraordinary.Itwasnolongerrefusebutnowbeautifulbeachglassthatpeoplecomefromalloverthestatetocollect.
IgazeatOttoandImogenatthepeakofarockformation,sittingbesideoneanother,talking.Ottosmiles,andImogenlaughsasthewindblowsthroughherlonghair.IseeTatesplashingsublimelyinthetidepoolwithagrin.There’salittleboybesidehimnow;he’smadeafriend.Ifeellightbecauseofit,buoyant.Iclosemyeyesandstareupatthesun.Itwarmsmethrough.
Willstolemanyyearsfrommylife.Hestolemyhappinessandmademedoreprehensiblethings.It’stakentime,butI’mfindingwaystoforgivemyselfforallthatIhavedone.Willbrokemeatfirst.Butintheprocessofhealing,I’vebecomeastronger,moreconfidentversionofmyselfthanIusedtobe.IntheaftermathofWill’sexploitationandhisabuse,I’vediscoveredthewomanIwasalwaysmeanttobe,awomanIcanbeproudof,awomanmychildrencanlookuptoandadmire.
Inowknowwhattruehappinessis.Iexperienceiteveryday.
Istepfromapairofsneakersandsinkmybarefeetintothesea,thinkingofbeachglass.
Iftimecanturnsomethingsoundesiredintosomethingsoloved,thesamecanhappentoallofus.Thesamecanhappentome.
It’shappeningalready.
AUTHOR’SNOTE
Mentalillnessaffectsoverforty-sixmillionAmericanseachyear.Itisanissueofcriticalimportancetooursociety,andtomepersonally,asIhaveexperiencedtheimpactsthatthediseasecanhaveonafamily.InTheOtherMrs.,Sadieisavictimofcruelmanipulationbythoseseekingtotakeadvantageofherillness,andintheend,sheisempoweredtoseizecontrolandultimatelytoseekthehelpsheneeds.Itismyhopethatwe,asasociety,willcontinuetobringawarenesstothisimportantissueandthatinthefuture,wewillplacegreateremphasisonensuringthatthoseinneedhaveaccesstopropercareandtreatment.Formoreinformationaboutmentalhealthordissociativeidentitydisorder,visittheNationalInstituteofMentalHealth(NIMH)andtheClevelandClinic.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thankyoutomyeditor,ErikaImranyi,forhelpingsteermeintherightdirection,foryourdiligenceanddedicationtothisbookandyourpatiencewithme.Thankyoutomyagent,RachaelDillonFried,forofferinginsightandendlessencouragementduringthewritingandrevisionprocess.I’msoproudofwhatwe’veaccomplishedhereandlookforwardtomanymorebookstocome.ThankyoutoLorianaSacilotto,MargaretMarbury,NatalieHallakandsomanyothersatHarperCollinsforprovidingindispensableeditorialfeedback.
ThankyoutothewonderfulpeopleatHarperCollins,ParkRowBooksandSanfordGreenburgerAssociates.I’msogratefultobeapartofsuchcommitted,hardworkingteams.Thankyoutomypublicists,EmerFloundersandKathleenCarter;toSeanKapitainandcrewforanotherfabulouscoverdesign;toJenniferStimsonforthecopyedits;tosalesandmarketing;andtotheproofreaders,booksellers,librarians,bloggers,bookstagrammersandeveryoneelsewhohasahandingettingmywordsouttoreaders.Thiswouldn’tbepossiblewithoutyou.AndahugethankstomyHollywooddreamteam,ShariSmileyandScottSchwimer,foryourhardworkandenthusiasm.
Thankyou,asalways,tomyfamilyfortheemotionalsupport;tomychildrenforallowingmetoterrifyyouwhileIplottedideasaloud;andtothoseincrediblepeoplewhowillinglyandeagerlydroppedeverythingtoreadadraftofthisnovelandprovideessentialfeedback:KarenHorton,JanelleKolosh,PeteKyrychenko,MarissaLukas,DougNelson,VickyNelson,DonnaRehs,KellyReinhardt,CoreyWordenandNickiWorden.Thisbookwouldn’tbewhatitiswithoutyourinsightandeagleeyes.
ISBN:9781488099601
TheOtherMrs.
Copyright?2020byMaryKyrychenko
Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseofbriefquotationsembodiedincriticalarticlesandreviews.
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businesses,companies,eventsorlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
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