Never Let You Go

  I’m passing the left side of the bed when I notice the bright yellow and red cover of a book on the bottom of the nightstand. I tilt my head, read the title.

  Nursing Leadership and Management in Canada.

  I drop to my knees and pick up the book, skim through some pages. Marcus said his ex-wife was an accountant—and Katie was going to university to be an accountant. Maybe Kathryn had been thinking about a career change. The book flips open to the title page and I see the label, neatly filled out in bright blue ink: This book belongs to Elizabeth Kathryn Sanders.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  It can’t be right. It can’t be the same woman Andrew killed. How is that even possible? I spin around and walk over to the small bookshelf under the window. I pull books out, one by one, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Mystery novels, romance novels. So many romance novels. They all have a label on the inside page. I read her name over and over again.

  Elizabeth Kathryn Sanders. Elizabeth Kathryn Sanders. Elizabeth Kathryn Sanders.

  I shove the books back onto the shelf, trying to make sure they are all lined up again, lock the door, and run down the stairs. Before I do anything else, I check out the front window. Marcus’s boat is near the shoreline, his back toward the house. He’s still fishing.

  In our room, I rummage through his suitcase, run my hands through his coat pockets, peer under the bed, and dig into the nightstand drawer. I don’t know what I’m searching for, but something deep inside is spurring me on. Look, just keep looking. My hands are moving fast, lifting, feeling. The floorboards are cold on my feet. I’ve let the fire go out, but I’m hot, sweaty. Angus is following me, nudging me with his nose, his tail wagging. He thinks this is a game.

  I yank open the medicine cabinet, rifle through bottles of mouthwash, disposable razors, bottles of heartburn medicine, Tylenol, Advil, cold remedies. No prescription bottles.

  His shaving kit is on the side of the counter. I look through his grooming tools, his electric razor. When I lift out his plastic soap holder, something inside makes a soft rattling sound. I fumble with the lid, my hands heavy as though they’re frozen. Finally I get it off.

  I’m staring at a handful of white pills. I’ve seen these before. Ambien. The same pills someone gave Angus. I look down beside me where Angus is sitting. His tail thumps.

  I’m remembering how Marcus drove me home that time when my tire suddenly went flat, how he stood nearby when I turned off my alarm. I blamed Andrew for everything, for hurting Greg, for sneaking around in my house. Was it really Marcus? He said his ex-wife’s name was Kathryn. There never was a daughter. There never was a Katie.

  Elizabeth was his wife.

  The answer comes loud and clear and I realize that I already knew. As soon as I saw the books, I knew. That’s why I was looking for the pills. I slide to my knees, still holding the soap container. No. This is wrong. I’m jumping to conclusions. Andrew died in my house.

  They’d ruled it an accident, but Corporal Parker had questions, so many questions, about me, Greg, and Chris. She said lots of people were angry with Andrew, but maybe she missed one. The most important one. I think back to what I know of Elizabeth Sanders. The newspapers had mentioned a husband but nothing else. The family had asked for privacy.

  Each new thought hits harder. Marcus volunteered at my support group, he became my friend. Had he just been waiting for Andrew to get out of jail? He probably knew Andrew would come looking for me one day. And now he knows I drugged Andrew that night. I sat here and told him all about it, then we made love.

  What kind of game is this? What does he want with me?

  As soon as Sophie is back with the Cherokee we have to leave, but what do I say to Marcus? Do I confront him? No. We have to get to a safe place. I’ll have to come up with some sort of emergency that means we need to go back to town. Then I’ll call the police.

  I stand up on shaky legs, carefully put the pills back into his shaving kit. I look at his razor. I need a weapon in case he tries to attack me. Maybe a knife.

  I move cautiously out of the bedroom, peer into the living room. It’s empty, the fire is dying. I check the window again, keeping my body in the shadows, and grip the curtain tight when I see his boat tied up on the dock. I press closer to the window, check the beach, the path.

  He’s not down at the lake anymore.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Marcus is standing by the front door, unlacing his boots. I’m struck with an image of Andrew and how he’d loosen the top laces first on each boot, starting with the right. Then he’d straighten and use his left foot against his right heel, while bracing his hand on the wall. I never realized before that they move the same way. Marcus looks up at me with a smile.

  “I was getting lonely out there.”

  I smile, but my lips feel stiff, fake. He’s going to sense something is wrong if I don’t find some way to pretend everything is okay. I’ve done this before. I did this for years.

  “Catch anything?”

  “No luck today.”

  “Want some coffee?”

  “That’d be great.” As I pull down a mug from the cupboard, he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. His skin is cold against the flesh at my belly where my shirt has risen. When he brushes his lips across the nape of my neck, I almost can’t breathe. I concentrate on lifting the decanter.

  “God, you’re freezing,” I say “Why don’t you have a hot bath?”

  “Maybe.” He pulls away, takes the coffee. “Where’s Sophie?”

  “She’s not back yet. I might take Angus for a walk and see if any of the neighbors are home. Someone might have a car I could borrow.”

  “It’s a long way around the lake. Let’s just give it a little more time, okay? It’s getting stormy outside again. There’ll be branches falling from the trees. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “Okay.” I hide my face behind my coffee mug. Who are you? What have you done? His handsome face is so familiar. I just kissed his lips hours ago, but now he’s a stranger. I want Sophie to come back soon so we can get out of here, but the other part of me wants her to stay where she’s safe. If Marcus realizes something’s wrong, I don’t know what he’s going to do.

  He looks around. “Do I smell cleaner?”

  “I did some tidying, but I accidentally broke the photo frame in your bedroom—the one with Katie’s photo.” I watch his face, waiting to see how he reacts, and keep a tight grip on my mug. If I have to run, I’ll throw the hot coffee in his face.

  “That’s okay,” he says calmly. “I can replace it. Was the photo damaged?” He’s probably wondering if I’ve noticed anything amiss. I have to keep my own voice calm, but I’ve never been so deadly afraid in my entire life. Not even with Andrew.

  “I didn’t remove it. I was worried about scratches.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Accidents happen.”

  But it wasn’t an accident that we met. Just like it’s not an accident that we’re at the lake house with him right now. He’d been so convincing, weaving his spell. I need you, he’d said.

  “Why don’t you have a bath with me?” he says. We’d done that before, when I stayed over at his place. He’d lit candles, dribbled champagne over my body, teased me with his mouth, made me twist and moan and beg for his touch. I fell in love with a man who hated me.

  I glance at the front door. “I don’t know.… Sophie—”

  “Is a big girl. I don’t think she’ll be traumatized. She knows about the birds and the bees.” He smiles. “You can help me warm up.”

  “I’m just not in the mood for a bath.”

  “Okay.” He gives me a quizzical look. My tone was too short, my voice tight.

  “I’ll come and sit with you. Let me just freshen my coffee.”

  The sound of running water floats down the hall. I think of the bathtub upstairs. Did Elizabeth sit with him? Does he still bathe in there sometimes and think of her? I wonder if he’s ever actual
ly rented this house out or if that’s just another lie. I fill my coffee cup.

  When I enter the bathroom he’s already got the tub half full, bubbles covering his body up to his hard stomach. His feet are braced against the spout, and he uses one to tighten the tap.

  “Sure you won’t join me?”

  I shake my head and perch on the side of the tub. He lifts a wet hand, trails a finger down my arm, following a bead of water. I want to scratch at it. Maybe I should just leave now, when he’s in the bath. I might get a few miles down the road before he catches on, but he’s fast—I’ve seen him on the treadmill. If he chases me down, I won’t be able to intercept Sophie.

  “I was thinking I might want to cook something different tonight,” I say. “When Sophie comes back, mind if I run to the grocery store and pick up a few things?”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, that’s okay.” I can’t meet his eyes, so I stare down at my coffee, rubbing at an imaginary spot on the handle with my thumb.

  I hear a noise, the front door opening, then Angus barking excitedly. I don’t look at Marcus. I just I rush out of the bathroom—and stop when I see Jared with Sophie in the kitchen. He’s kneeling down and petting Angus. Jared looks up at me, gives a friendly smile. I can’t stop staring at him. I feel as though I’ve slammed into a wall, my thoughts scattered. Jared can’t be here. Now he’s in danger too. I have to get them out of here. Noise in the bathroom. Marcus is draining the tub. I only have moments. His keys, Sophie must still have his keys.

  I meet Sophie’s eyes, trying to figure out how I can signal that we have to leave without alarming her and setting off panic. “Sophie, we need to get to town. We—”

  “Mom, I crashed the Cherokee.”

  “You what?” She’s pale, I realize now, her hair messy, and her arms wrapped around her body as though she’s freezing cold. I hadn’t noticed. I’d been too scared. I walk closer. “Are you injured?” I search her face, notice a red mark by her temple. I graze my fingers across the spot.

  “I’m okay,” she says. “But the Cherokee is wrecked.” Her voice is quavering and I can tell she’s trying not to break down in front of Jared. “There was a tree and I tried to stop, but the Cherokee slid everywhere, and I went off the road.” Marcus comes up beside me with a robe wrapped around him and she looks at him, her face pleading. “I’m really sorry.”

  His face is calm as he looks at her, almost reassuring. If this was yesterday, I would’ve been grateful for how he was always so thoughtful about everything, how he’d take a beat or two before responding—he was so centered. So in control. He’d never lose his temper like Andrew. Now I see something else. I see anger. I’d never noticed before, how his eyes could go so flat and cold. I hadn’t seen it for what it really was, deep-seated hatred and rage.

  “I’m just glad you’re all right, Sophie,” he says. “I’ll get you some ice.” He heads over to the fridge, says casually over his shoulder, “Have you called the police?”

  I feel a tiny leap of hope. The police. If they come to take an accident report, I might be able to signal that we need help. I look at Sophie. Say yes. Please say you’ve called them.

  “No.” Her face flushes. “It was my fault. I glanced at my phone.…”

  She’s watching me. She’s expecting me to be angry, to lecture her about driving while distracted, but it’s as though the roof has collapsed onto my head and I’m still trying to dig out from the rubble. Marcus is listening. I have to say something.

  “Sophie!” I finally manage. “What were you thinking? You could have been really hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” She looks so ashamed, and I want to hug her and reassure her, but I can’t think past the next few minutes and how I’m going to keep myself together.

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “We’ll have to call a tow truck when the phone lines are fixed,” Marcus says. “And I’ll have to contact my insurance company and make a report, but we should be able to keep the police out of it.” His voice is still smooth, assured. He’s so confident. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s played the game for months.

  “You need to get checked at the hospital, Sophie,” I say. “You could have tissue damage or torn ligaments.” While Marcus is distracted by taking care of the Cherokee, I’ll get Sophie and Jared out of here and call Corporal Parker as soon as I have cell service.

  “The road is blocked, Mom. Jared had to park on the other side—we walked here.”

  I hold on to the edge of the counter, feel the world tilt for a moment. It’s all coming back. The night we ran away from Andrew. The storm. Trudging through the snow with Sophie.

  Marcus is turning from the fridge, giving me a curious look.

  “Okay, well, we’ll just walk back.” I sound cheerful, upbeat. It’s as though I’m standing on the other side of myself, pulling my strings like a puppet, making my mouth move.

  Sophie is looking at me like I’m insane. “It’s freezing cold and super-windy. I don’t want to go back out.” I glance at the window. The trees are swaying wildly and I can hear the wind whistling down the chimney. Darkness and fear, pressing tighter and tighter around me.

  “Where was the tree?” Marcus hands Sophie an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

  “Close to the turnoff,” Jared says. “We walked like forty minutes.”

  “You should probably just rest while we wait out the storm,” Marcus says to Sophie. “If you’re sore tomorrow, one of us can walk to the car in the morning.”

  The morning. We’ll have to spend the night.

  “What about your parents?” I say to Jared. Maybe they’ll be worried. They’ll call the police, someone will see his car parked on the side of the road and come investigate.

  “They know I’m with Sophie. I texted them that I’m spending the night.”

  That was it, our last chance. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Do you know what you’ve done? But he’s not the one I want to hurt. It’s Marcus. And now we’re trapped with him.

  * * *

  Jared and Sophie are sitting on the couch, Sophie holding ice to the side of her head. Marcus has gone to get dressed. I watch as Jared picks up Sophie’s free hand and holds it. I’d thought he was a risk. I’d worried about him being with my daughter and now I want to scream at him to run away with her. I have to warn them, but I can hear drawers sliding open and shut. Marcus is too close. If he comes out and sees their shocked expressions, he’ll know something is wrong. So far I don’t think he’s caught on. Before he went into the bedroom, he looked relaxed, even happy when he said, “Looks like we’re having an afternoon of board games!”

  I look at the clock. It’s not even twelve. How are we going to make it through the rest of the day? I’ve been trying to come up with a plan so we can sneak out after Marcus goes to sleep, but three people and a dog might make a lot of noise—especially the dog. We have to make sure Marcus stays asleep. I could drug him. I’ve done it before. Why not again?

  Sophie and Jared are talking. Jared is saying how scared he was when she called. Sophie rests her head on his shoulder. Something has happened between them, but I realize this in a distant, unfocused way. I’m too busy thinking about how I can get the pills.

  Marcus comes out wearing a thick sweater and jeans, walks into the kitchen, and grabs a bottle of Baileys liqueur from the cupboard. “Irish Cream in your coffee, Lindsey?”

  “That would be lovely.” I stand. “I’m just going to get a sweater.”

  “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ll build a fire.”

  “Great.” We’re so civilized, so polite. Both liars now. I move swiftly down the hall. I only have moments. I skip the sweater and go straight into the bathroom and lock the door. Marcus’s shaving kit is still on the counter. I fumble with the zipper. It’s stiff, like it’s caught inside on something, and won’t open. I tug harder, knocking his shaving cream onto the floor.

  ?
??Lindsey? I’ve got your coffee.” He’s in the bedroom, walking closer. He’s standing outside the door. He’ll hear me rummaging around. I can’t open it now.

  I stare into the mirror at my wild eyes, press my hand over my mouth, trying to hold in the scream I can feel building in my throat.

  “Out in a minute!” I take some breaths, splash cold water on my face, and open the door.

  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Feel okay?” he says. “You look pale.”

  “I’m just hungry. I’ll make us all some chicken soup.”

  “Need help?”

  “You can help by keeping the kids occupied.” I laugh. “Maybe you can watch a movie or play cards.” I’m babbling, throwing out ideas, but I have to keep him out of the kitchen. I might be able to write a note for Sophie or hide a knife. I can come back to the bathroom later.

  He holds out the mug. “Here you go.”

  I take the warm drink, grip it tight in my hand. “Thanks.”

  “It will help. I know you’re upset about Sophie’s accident, but she’s handling it fine.” His mouth is curved into an understanding smile. I used to love that smile. It made me want to share my heart and soul with him. It made me tell him everything.

  I give him a grateful smile back, then take a small sip, and make a satisfied sound. “Yum.” It doesn’t taste strange, and I don’t think he’d drug me—not when the kids are still in the living room—but just in case, I’ll find a way to dump it out when he’s not looking.

  “I better start on that soup.” I head for the door.

  “Lindsey? You forgot something.”

  I turn around, fear thick in my throat. This is it.

  He’s holding out my white wool cardigan. I come closer and he stands, wraps it around my shoulders, and brushes his lips against mine. When I step back, he holds my hip in place and whispers into my ear. “This morning was fun. Maybe later?”

  My face is burning hot with anger and shame, remembering how I’d straddled him, how I’d felt so powerful. The entire time he must have been laughing at me, but now I’m the one laughing in a low, husky voice. “Maybe. If you’re good.”