“I hope she doesn’t get stuck.”
“If she does, she can walk back. It’s not that far.”
I nod and tell myself he’s right. “I guess I need to get used to this feeling. Once she goes away to school, she’ll have her own life.”
“And so will you.” He presses his mouth against mine for a kiss, but I can’t relax into it. He raises his head, gives me a look. “What’s up? I brushed my teeth.” He smiles.
“I just need my coffee. I’m still half asleep.” I gently pull out of his arms and busy myself with pouring two cups. “Let’s go into the living room.”
He sits on the couch and I settle beside him. The lake is calm outside the window, the surface smooth as glass. The trees are still. If I want to tell him about the night of the accident, this is a good time, but I falter inside. I look over at him, his kind eyes and his reassuring smile. He’s a wonderful person, I remind myself. I can trust him.
“I woke up thinking about something I did in the past,” I say. “A mistake that I made when I was married. It happened a long time ago, but it still bothers me sometimes.”
“And you aren’t sure whether you should tell me?”
“I’m just worried, I guess, that it might change things.”
“Lindsey, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” He reaches out and holds my free hand. “Nothing will change. I promise.”
I stare into my coffee. I’ve gone too far now, can’t pull back and laugh this one off. I take a breath. “The night I ran away, I gave Andrew something so he’d sleep. I was just so scared he’d wake up, you know?” I’ve told Marcus how Andrew had choked me the first time I tried to leave and I’m glad I don’t have to go into that now. This is hard enough.
“You mean like sleeping pills?”
I nod. “My brother got them for me because I was too scared to get a prescription. Andrew had started tracking my finances even closer after he discovered I was secretly taking birth control pills. I didn’t tell you about that either.…” I look up at his face, waiting to see how he reacts to this new revelation, but his expression is still understanding.
“I’m not surprised,” he says. “Of course you didn’t want to get pregnant when you were in an abusive marriage.” He gives my hand a squeeze.
My body relaxes. I didn’t realize how these secrets had been eating at me, how much it means to be able to finally share them with Marcus.
“I was going to give him a few of the sleeping pills, but he’d been drinking a lot that night and I was worried if I gave him too many, he’d die. So I only dropped two into his glass.”
“That seems smart. You had to get out of that house.”
“Yes, but he must have woken up—maybe he got sick from the mixture. I don’t know what happened. Later, I realized I might have left the cotton from the bottle on the counter. All these years, I wasn’t sure, but when Andrew approached me outside the bank, he said something that made me realize he did know I drugged him. That’s why he was so angry that night.”
“You blame yourself for the accident?”
“I know logically that he was the one who chose to get behind the wheel, but the thing about Andrew was that even when he was drinking, he could still drive okay. He was usually more careful. Sometimes I couldn’t even tell. I think the pills changed his coordination. After the accident I read online that some people sleepwalk when they drink and take sleeping pills.”
Marcus is just watching me, his eyes intense.
“Can you say something?”
“Sorry. I was waiting for you to finish. It sounds like you’ve been torturing yourself over this for a long time, and I understand. Trust me, I understand, but you need to forgive yourself.”
“Even though it’s my fault that woman died?”
“Elizabeth,” he says.
I pause, surprised to hear him say her name.
He catches my look. “You mentioned it once.”
I nod. “Right. Elizabeth. I just can’t help thinking if I hadn’t drugged him, he wouldn’t have lost control of the truck. Or if I’d just given him more pills.…”
“You’d probably be in prison right now and Sophie wouldn’t have a mother. You can imagine a thousand different scenarios, Lindsey, but you aren’t responsible for his choices. The chances of it being a sleepwalking situation are pretty rare. He knew what he was doing.”
I lean back against the couch. “I’ve told myself that so many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever believed it until now. I was so scared you’d think I was a terrible monster.”
“Not even close. We’re all capable of doing things we never thought possible.” He gives my hand a squeeze, reaches for his coffee mug, and takes a sip.
I smile at him. “What have you ever done that’s so bad?”
He smiles back. “Well, apparently I’m dating a monster.”
I lightly punch his shoulder. “That’s not nice!”
He winces and pretends to rub at the spot. “See? She’s a dangerous woman.”
I laugh, lean forward, and give his arm a kiss. “You’re right, I’m very dangerous.” I take the mug out of his hand, and set it on the table, then slide my hand up his my forearm, to the sensitive spot at his elbow, where I rub a slow circle with my thumb. He gives me a look.
“How about we take advantage of our alone time?” I say.
He hesitates. “I was hoping to get out on the lake soon.”
“This won’t take long.” I stand up and straddle his body, kiss him until his mouth opens. We stumble to the bedroom, toss our clothes onto the floor, and collapse onto the bed. We make love, our hands entwined over his head, our breaths mingling. I can’t see his eyes, his face buried in my neck, but I can feel his desperate need for release, our bodies rocking together. Every time I slow, his hands sink into my flesh, urging me on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
The house is quiet when I tiptoe down the stairs. I move extra slowly, waiting for a moment in between each step. I don’t want to wake Marcus this time. Angus’s toenails tap on the floor as he follows me and I stop to take off his collar so it doesn’t jingle. I put my finger to my lips. “Shush!” He looks at me as though he understands. I let Angus out for a pee and quickly scrawl a note, debate about where to leave it, and finally settle for on the fridge. I’ll get a coffee in town. When Angus comes back in, I coax him onto his blanket with a bone stuffed with peanut butter, then sneak out of the house before he catches on that we’re not going for a walk.
I feel bad about using Marcus’s Cherokee without asking—and a little freaked out. It’s brand-new, without a single scratch. I drive slowly, my hands tight on the wheel. I’ll be extra-careful. I won’t park by any other cars and I’ll wash it after our trip. Hopefully he’ll just be so happy he and Mom are getting married that he’ll let my auto theft slide. Every kid gets one get-out-of-jail-free card, right? Though maybe that’s for real parents. Real fathers. I think about my dad. He would have let me use his truck. He was even going to buy me my own car.
No. I’m not going to think about that anymore. Andrew is gone and I can’t make anything up to him, but Jared is still alive and I’m not letting him go this time.
The road is rough, the tires slogging through deep puddles. I fumble with different buttons until I think I’ve put the Cherokee in four-wheel drive. Isn’t there something about speed? You can’t use four-wheel drive on a highway? I don’t know, I don’t know. What was I thinking? I don’t want to kill his transmission. Some of the branches scattered across the road are so big I can feel them scrape against the undercarriage. I hope I don’t rip off the muffler.
When I come to a junction, I slow down and try to think which way to turn. There are no direction signs and nothing looks familiar. I’d been sitting in the back the whole drive, playing on my phone. All I remember is Marcus saying something about all the logging roads in the area.
I turn right, but twenty minutes later, when I still haven’t h
it the highway and the road is getting bumpier and narrower, I realize I’ve made a mistake. I find a small clearing in the woods where I can turn around, and head back. This time when I reach the junction, I go the other way.
Five minutes later, I notice a sign. I’m almost at the turnoff to the highway. The road should get better soon—thank God. I haven’t passed any cabins for a while and the forest is thinner. Light breaks through the trees.
I glance at my cell on the passenger seat, wondering if I have service yet. I stretch over to the side, my rib cage pressing into the leather console, and pick up my phone. I press my password in, while taking quick peeks at the road, and hold the wheel with one hand.
Success. I have cell service! I wonder if I’ve gotten more text messages. I glance down and open the app with my thumb, and hear a distinctive whoosh as my text to Jared leaves my phone. Shit! I’d wanted to look over it again and make sure it didn’t sound stupid.
I look up—and in a quick flash of panic, I see the tree lying across the road. I slam on the brakes, the seat belt cutting sharply into my stomach and across my chest. The back end of the Cherokee is sliding and I’m trying to turn the wheel, but the front is pointed toward the edge of the road. The Cherokee bounces into the ditch, rockets forward, and smashes into a tree.
So much noise, like the world is coming apart. Metal screaming, glass shattering. A branch stabs into the windshield and scrapes against my face in a sharp slap. The driver’s-side air bag blows up with a loud bang, then the passenger one. I’m surrounded by white balloon material.
It’s stopped. Everything is quiet, just the hissing of the engine. I’m scared to move. I cautiously move my legs and feet. Everything seems to work, but I’m shaking hard. The engine is making a weird noise, like a high-pitched whine underneath the hissing.
I reach out and turn the key. The engine shudders off. I fumble for my seat belt and press the button, but it doesn’t release right away. I have to yank and tug and finally it comes free.
I look for my cell phone, but I can’t see anything with the air bags filling the front seats. It’s not on the console. I push and shove the driver’s-side air bag out of the way, and feel around with my feet until I spot my bright pink cell case.
I reach down, wiggle it out with a finger, and slide it closer. The rectangle plastic shape is solid and familiar in my hand, comforting. Please, please, let me still have cell service.
Three bars. It should be enough, but who do I call? I hesitate, staring at my screensaver photo—Delaney and me, making a funny face. Jared took the photo. I don’t know if the lake house has phone service yet, but it doesn’t matter—I don’t know the number anyway.
Should I call 911? I think about the text leaving my phone. Can cops look up that stuff? They’ll see I was using my cell while driving. I’ll be charged. I don’t want to lose my license. My phone vibrates in my hand, startling me so much that I almost drop it. It’s a text from Jared.
Can we talk? I miss you.
I had an accident. I need help!
WTF? Call me!
He answers right away. “You okay? Did you get hurt?”
“My head hurts a little … and my neck. My mom is going to be so pissed.”
“What happened?”
“I borrowed Marcus’s Cherokee. I was so stupid—I looked at my cell when I was driving. I slid off the road and hit a tree. Should I call the cops? I’m scared I’ll get in trouble.”
“Just stay there. I’ll come get you.”
* * *
I wait, hunched over in the Cherokee with my arms wrapped around my legs, shivering and staring at my phone while worrying that he’ll get lost, or that some other driver will come along and see the Cherokee in the ditch and then they’ll call the cops. Forty-five excruciating minutes later, I finally hear a car door slamming, then his voice calling.
“Sophie?”
I push open the door, climb out, my legs cramped and stiff. “I’m over here!” I push my way through the brush and slide down into the ditch, try to get to my feet.
Footsteps on gravel—sounds like he’s running. Then he’s standing in front of me, his face pale and his hand reaching to help me out of the ditch. I grab at it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry for everything. I was such a bitch. I just—”
“Don’t worry about that right now.” He pulls me up until we are face-to-face, brushes glass out of my hair, then cups my cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I didn’t mean to have an accident.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He steps closer, presses his cold lips against mine. His mouth is warm, soft, and we kiss desperately. Finally we separate, but keep our hands gripped together.
“The tree is still covering the road,” he says. “How far away is the lake house?”
“I’m not sure. I got lost.”
“Can you walk?”
I nod. He tucks my hand into his pocket and we make our way back up the hill. I don’t care if it takes two hours to walk back. I don’t care if Mom and Marcus yell at me. I have Jared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
LINDSEY
It’s almost ten and Sophie still isn’t back. Marcus is fishing on the lake—he wants to catch some trout for dinner. I had planned on reading my book and enjoying another cup of coffee, but I’m watching Marcus from the window, the bright red of his life jacket, the flick of his wrist as he casts the line. He hasn’t acted any different since my confession, just in a hurry to get out on the lake before he “missed the bite,” but I still feel exposed, vulnerable.
I walk back to my book, which is still open on the couch where I was sitting. I pick it up, put it down again. Listen for the sound of Sophie parking the Cherokee, her boots coming down the stairs, think how she’ll burst through the door with flushed cheeks and apologies, but there’s only silence. If she doesn’t come home soon, we may have to borrow a neighbor’s car.
I get up and hunt for cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, wash every surface, including the floors, the cupboard doors, and the inside of the fridge. Why is she taking so long? If something happened to her, would anybody know where to find us? I head into the master bedroom. When I reach up to dust the top of the dresser, I accidentally knock into Katie’s photo and the frame hits the floor with a smash. I quickly crouch and check the damage.
The wood is split and glass fragments cover the floor like slivers of ice. I feel terrible and hope the frame didn’t hold any sentimental value for Marcus. Thank God the picture doesn’t seem to be harmed. When I remove the back piece and take the photo out, I realize it’s on photo paper—I can see the brand name. Marcus must have printed it from his computer.
I flip the photo over and look at Katie’s face. She was so beautiful. Everything in the photo is perfect, the wind in her hair, her makeup, the woven blanket spread perfectly straight on the sand, which I now realize now looks fine-grained, and lighter-colored than the sand on the beach I can see from the front window. The vegetation in the photo isn’t like what we have on the West Coast either. They must have been on vacation somewhere, which would explain the glass of wine in her hand. But Marcus told me his daughter never drank. It could just be water, but now that I’m looking closer, something about the photo doesn’t seem natural. It seems staged. They probably had a photographer take the shot. Come to think of it, most of the photos I’ve seen of Katie in Marcus’s house all look like they have been taken by a photographer. There aren’t any candid shots of her—and none of them together. He must have packed those away.
After I sweep up the glass and dump it into the recycling so Angus doesn’t cut his paws, I walk upstairs to clean Sophie’s room. I stop outside Katie’s door. When’s the last time anyone dusted in there? Marcus hasn’t said her room is off-limits, and I’m curious about her. The daughter of the man I love. I want to know her in some way. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I try the door, but it’s locked. He probably just didn’t want any rent
ers using her room. Downstairs, I find a few keys hanging on the rack and try them in the door. One fits.
I walk in, sniffing the stale air. It doesn’t seem like a young woman’s bedroom and I wonder when she stayed here last, if it’s been redecorated. It’s more like a master bedroom, with a painting of a sunrise on a snow-covered lake hanging over the wrought-iron bed, and a luxurious-looking silver faux-fur duvet cover. It’s much bigger than the bedroom downstairs.
I walk over to the window to let in some fresh air. The window is stiff, clearly hasn’t been opened for years, and I have to struggle to slide it up. When I turn back around, I notice a wooden wardrobe at the side of the room. I pull it open. There’s woman’s clothing inside. I flip through a few shirts, a cashmere sweater, and a pair of black dress pants. A girl in her early twenties wouldn’t wear clothes like this. They must have belonged to Kathryn. I notice a white silk kimono, which makes me cringe when I think about her wearing it for Marcus. I close the door.
I step back and look around again, taking in every detail. There are no photos on the nightstands—two nightstands, with lamps on each side. Could this have actually been the bedroom Marcus shared with his wife? That doesn’t make sense. He told me he bought a new mattress and bedding for the room downstairs so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable about anything.
To the right is another door. I push it open and discover a bathroom. I walk in slowly. I’m definitely snooping now but unable to turn around. I pull open one of the drawers. Woman’s makeup, odds and ends of samples, things she left behind. I can’t stop my fingers from pulling out more drawers, taking inventory. Q-tips, cotton balls, a dried-out perfume bottle, travel-sized shampoo, and a bar of scented soap still in Christmas paper. I turn it over, read the tag.
Love from Marcus.
Why didn’t he clean out this room? I don’t understand. Is he still in love with Kathryn? I grab at the counter, feeling woozy. I have to talk to him. I have to find out what this all means. I blink at my reflected image in the mirror. I look pale. I have to get out of here.