by Sonja Yoerg
Upstairs in the bathroom, she clips and files her nails, cleans up her eyebrows, and applies a face mask. Nothing says you have your shit together like small pores. While the emulsion is cinching her skin, she chooses her outfit. Something festive but not gaudy. No black. She settles on a wine-red sweaterdress and brown boots. As she’s carrying them out, her eye lands on the green coat she wore at Thanksgiving, the one Miles loves on her, and the bottom falls out of her stomach. Jackie pushes the coat aside and grabs a black wool one, throws the coat and the dress on the bed, and exchanges the brown boots for black ones. Underwear, bra, tights, and a white, gold, and dark-red plaid scarf.
She tosses it all on the bed and sits, exhausted.
Shower. Do it.
Forty minutes later, Jackie looks a hundred percent better than she feels. The effort hasn’t made her feel worse, which she counts as a win. She makes scrambled eggs, drinks more coffee, cleans up, places the pies in a tote bag. She ordered the gifts for her family shortly after Thanksgiving and had them shipped to her sister’s directly. Her presents for Miles and Antonio are in a bag at the foot of the bed. If Miles comes today to collect some belongings, he’ll see them. She sends Antonio a text, wishing him a merry Christmas, covering her sadness and regret with a long string of holiday emojis.
As she prepares to leave the house, loneliness descends. It may be waiting for her when she returns, but Jackie doesn’t dwell on it now.
It’s Christmas.
By noon, the five-year-old twins, Maria and Michael, have finally given up on arguing over whose presents are superior and wander into the den. Jackie and Nasira have erected a small tepee meant, ideally, for all the children to share.
Jackie notes their bleary-eyed expressions. She points inside at the comforter folded across the floor, and the stack of books in the center. “If you go in now and are quiet, I’ll bet you can have it to yourselves for a long time.”
The twins exchange a glance and crawl inside.
Maria sticks her head out. “Zeera, read to us?”
Jackie smiles at Nasira. “You’re an instant hit.”
“They are the cutest.” Nasira crouches at the tepee opening. “Scoot over, you guys.”
Jackie leaves the door ajar and proceeds to the living room, where Daniel and his father are lying side by side on the floor, puzzling over directions for a robot kit.
Jackie’s mother, Cheryl, is moving around the room, stuffing wrapping paper and ribbon into a trash bag. “Do we save gift bags?”
“Seems a shame not to,” Jackie says.
“Yup.” Grace appears beside her. “We save them, and put them away somewhere clever, and discover them after everything is wrapped. So definitely!” She scans the room, the kitchen. “Missing two, by my count.”
“Nasira’s reading to them in the tepee,” Jackie says.
“Postdocing is overrated. She stays right here.” Grace steps around the couch. “Hector, the littles are fast asleep. Think Jacks and I can sneak out for bit?”
“Sure. We’re good here.”
Cheryl cinches the bag shut. “Do you girls mind if I join you?”
Jackie didn’t want to talk about Miles in front of the children and, therefore, had only told Cheryl what she had told her sister over the phone the night before—the marriage was over. She can’t blame her mother for wanting in on the conversation—out of concern or curiosity or both—but right now Jackie would rather talk only to Grace. After all, it was only three days ago that she saw Miles with Harlan, and her emotions are still in tatters. That said, she can’t tell her mother to stay behind.
“Of course not,” Jackie says. “I’ll just make sure Nasira is happy where she is.”
They set out along an old logging road that threads through the woods bordering the backyard. The leaf litter under their feet has thawed and frozen a few times and no longer rustles as they tread on it. Low clouds rest on the distant hills, softening the air.
Since last night, Jackie has struggled over what to say to Grace and how long a version to tell. The threads of the story are tangled, and the ends are loose. Having Cheryl along adds another layer of complexity. Her marriage, she decides, is most relevant, and most painful, so she starts there.
“Three days ago, I found out that Miles has been sleeping with Harlan.”
Her mother and her sister stop in their tracks.
“Are you sure?” Cheryl asks.
“Yes. No one’s disputing it.” Jackie waits for her mother to comment that this is what happens when husbands travel too much, or some variant of I told you so, but she is silent, her brow knitted.
Grace pulls Jackie into a hug and rocks her back and forth, then holds her at arm’s length and scrutinizes her. “Your face says there’s more—more than what you told me last week.”
“A lot more, unfortunately.” Jackie splays her hands. “It’s so complicated and distressing, I don’t know where to begin.”
“I’m so sorry, Jacqueline.” Her mother sighs, and Jackie braces herself for the inevitable anti-male diatribe. Weirdly, part of her welcomes the predictability of it. Miles’s infidelity is the letdown she was raised to expect. Cheryl shakes her head. “And with Harlan. Of all people. How terribly disappointing for you, dear, but try not to take it personally. I imagine Miles is suffering as well. Martin tells me it’s helpful to take the other person’s perspective.” She brushes a lock of hair off her forehead with a gloved finger. “I’ve been practicing—not too strenuously, mind you—but I do see the benefit.”
Jackie sends Grace a surreptitious look of astonishment.
Cheryl isn’t finished. “And you don’t have to tell us the rest if it’s too painful right now, and I imagine it is.” Her mother squeezes her shoulder. “Why don’t we just walk? When you’re ready, we’re here to listen.” She sets off.
Grace’s eyes are huge. “Well, I can’t explain that, but I want to hear everything as soon as possible. Right now works.”
Jackie glances around her at the stiff gray tree trunks, the few dead leaves clinging to the otherwise-bare branches. She swallows, and an ache expands in her chest. “Remember Jeff? Jeff Toshack?”
CHAPTER 30
New Year’s Day, snow falls, impossibly large flakes that take their time finding a place to land—on their edges it seems—delicate stacks of white lace piled on every surface. At a brewpub near the police station, Jackie shares a window table with Detective Cash. They had arranged to meet right after Christmas, but he came down with the flu. He’s back at work today, catching up despite the holiday.
Cash makes his way through his burger as he listens to her story, asking several times for background info, infill. Her delivery has become more practiced through repetition, but as far as her emotions are concerned, the protective scarring has hardly begun.
When she finishes, he promises to follow up with whoever is handling the break-in at Nasira’s.
“Your observations are interesting, but none of the other incidents are criminal. We let the university deal with hacking issues unless they request help from us.”
Jackie picks at her french fries. “That makes sense.”
“I agree with you about the pattern, though,” Cash says. “If this Crispin really did all of the things you think he did—even most of them—it points to an extreme need for control. That’s a potentially dangerous pattern.”
“Potentially dangerous? I get that he seems to be trying to control my life, and maybe has gone to extremes to punish me for leaving him, but he’s never been violent.”
Cash leans in, lowers his voice. “How do you know, Jackie? He seems to be pretty good at hiding things.”
“That’s true, but—”
“You’re the psychologist. You tell me what happens when someone with off-the-charts control issues doesn’t get what he wants.”
Jackie knows the answer, and she knows the label Cash wants to apply to Harlan. Her mind had excluded it from conscious consideration because to consider it
would mean it was possible. Sociopath. Goose bumps pinprick her neck and the backs of her arms. It’s only a thought, a theory, but that is enough to cause an invisible membrane to close over her throat and mute her.
Cash acknowledges her realization with a nod. “Be careful, Jackie. It won’t hurt to be careful.”
Open your eyes.
After lunch, Jackie is on her front porch, stomping snow from her boots. She takes two steps inside to ditch her bag and retrieve the broom from the hall closet. Beginning with the porch steps, she sweeps away the snow, sending drifts to the left, then to the right. By the time she reaches the end of the walk, the steps are white again. She pauses to brush snow from her shoulders and blow on her bare hands. Six inches are forecast, a nearly debilitating amount for DC. She’s delighted about the storm because her plan is to hibernate.
Jackie is sweeping her way back to the door when a car door closes on the street behind her.
“Jackie!”
Her breath freezes in her chest. Without turning, she hurries up the walk. She reaches the porch, puts the broom aside to free her hands.
“Jackie!”
She turns. Harlan is most of the way up the walk. Cash warned her not to confront him, but she doubts she can get inside before he reaches her. If he sees her fleeing, it might annoy or anger him. What is she going to do, run and hide every time she encounters him?
“What is it, Harlan? What do you want?”
He’s at the foot of the steps, snow falling between them, each flake a moment of time. “You weren’t running from me, were you? I just want to talk.”
Harlan comes up the steps to stand in front of her, not quite at arm’s length. Snowflakes are dissolving on his black wool coat. He brushes a gloved hand over his hair, wipes it on his coat. He tips his head, smiles. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Why are you here?”
“I came to say goodbye. The snow’s a bit of a nuisance, but my plan is to leave for Madison in the morning.”
“Madison?”
He grins. “It’s been in the works for a while, but I didn’t want Chen getting wind of it. Sorry to leave you on the outside.”
Jackie struggles to assimilate this information, as welcome as it is. “Why now? Why didn’t you just stay after your sabbatical?”
“I think you know why, Jackie.”
It’s hard for her to accept, but yes, she does know why. He came back because he was compelled to teach her a lesson. And now that the lesson has been delivered, he can leave, start again, and she is left to pick up the pieces of everything he shattered.
The supercilious smile on his face is infuriating. “Damn you, Harlan.” She is dying to unleash a long string of invectives and accusations, but she’s uncertain enough about him to quash the impulse. Be smart, Jackie. Don’t throw fuel on it. Harlan is here for more than goodbye, and he’ll get to it in his time. Meanwhile, she’ll employ his tactic: deflect. “What about your students?”
“Don’t worry, Jackie. I won’t leave them in the lurch, not the useful ones anyway. And Madison’s offer was quite generous.” He slides a half step closer. She inches back. “Kind of you to be concerned.”
“I’m not concerned for you in the least.”
He makes a clucking noise and frowns, feigning hurt. “Before I go, I want to show you something.” He unzips his coat, reaches into his chest pocket, and extracts a piece of paper. He holds it by its edges with gloved fingers, displaying it for her. Two images from a photo booth strip, black-and-white, worn at the edges.
Jeff and her.
She inhales sharply.
In the top photo, she and Jeff laugh. In the bottom one, they kiss. They are so young. So happy.
They had divided the strip. Her half was lost, God knows when.
Her fingers itch to grab the photo, to reclaim it, but the significance of Harlan possessing it sends ice through her veins and paralyzes her.
It can’t be true. She cannot reconcile the information. Her thoughts dart away from each other, refusing order, logic. She stares at the photo, her mouth dry, and shifts her gaze to the fingers holding it, belonging to the man she devoted herself to, the man she slept with for five years. Sweat breaks out on her forehead, along her back. Harlan is confronting her with evidence, taunting her, because he knows, and now she does, too, that there is only one explanation for it. The truth of it is inescapable. And damning.
Everything she suspected is true. He followed Jeff that night, murdered him.
She looks up at Harlan, not bothering to hide her fear, her distress. He’d see right through it anyway. Her mind hunts for a course of action, a way out. If she pushes him hard with both hands, he might fall backward off the porch, giving her enough time to get inside, lock him out.
Too risky.
Be careful, Jackie. Be smart.
Her hands are shaking with nerves and with cold, and she slips them into her pockets. Her right hand finds her phone.
He smiles down at her. “Surprising, isn’t it? That he kept this photo of the two of you?”
“It’s more surprising that you have it.” She’s stalling. In her pocket, her finger finds the on button, presses it. She touches what she hopes is the Voice Memo icon, bottom right, then bottom center to start recording. If she’s lucky. “Where did you get the photo, Harlan?”
“Where do you think? I was right to be suspicious of his motives; I read it in his body language the night you two had drinks at the hotel. Old friends, catching up.” He laughs lightly. “I don’t think so.”
“So you followed us to the hotel.”
“Anyone can have drinks there, Jackie. It’s not a crime.”
“But you followed us more than once, right?”
“You really ought to change your passwords, even for innocuous sites. It’s simply not safe.”
“Not with you around, apparently. So, what? You took his wallet. Is that a souvenir, too?”
“I’m insulted you’d think me so careless.” He waves the photo. “I only have this because I wanted you to see it. He was stalking you, Jackie.”
“I doubt it.” But she wonders why Jeff would have that photo on him. Maybe before he left Seattle, when he thought he would see her, he dug it up. Maybe he meant to show it to her and changed his mind. What does it matter now that he’s dead? She closes her eyes to quell her panic, then forces herself to look at Harlan again. He’s less dangerous, she still believes, when she can hold him like that.
He presses on. “Twenty years is a long time to keep a photo, don’t you think? Maybe that’s what you wanted, too, Jackie. Maybe you knew things were coming to an end with Miles.” He cocks his head, a raptor considering the rodent in its talons. “Maybe Jeffrey—or is it Jeff?—represented your next step. How perfect! What is old is new again. Women like to build a bridge to a new happiness before the old bridge collapses. Is that what you were doing, Jackie? Preparing to move on?” He steps closer, reaches as if to stroke her hair, or strangle her.
She pulls away, steadies herself against the door behind her. The broom is within reach, but if she grabs it, she’s escalating. Her eyes land on the doorbell. The camera. If her phone isn’t recording their conversation, the camera will be storing video, at least in ten-second bursts. It’s something. The realization steels her.
Jackie keeps her tone level. “I’m getting cold, Harlan. If you don’t have anything else to show me, why don’t you get going?”
His eyes widen; he’s annoyed at being cut short. “I’m not surprised you haven’t invited me inside, but I was sure you’d have more questions.”
“Like what?”
“You’re the curious one, Jackie.”
“Okay, then. How did Jeff lose his wallet?”
He shrugs. “He probably dropped it. Promise me you won’t go down to the towpath after dark. The lighting is inadequate.” He sighs, returns the photo strip to his pocket, zips his coat. He spreads his arms. “I suppose a hug goodbye is out of the question?”
Jackie glares at him. It takes all the self-control she can muster not to slug him in the face. “Leave, Harlan.”
For a moment he stands stock-still, and the light in his eyes turns to flint. Jackie braces herself for a blow, an attack. She keeps her eyes trained on him, her attention the only power she has left. She cannot breathe.
“Goodbye, Jackie.” He descends the steps, strides down the walk.
She wills him to continue, to not change his mind. She’s locked in place, breathing in shallow gasps through her mouth, her body rigid.
He reaches the sidewalk, clicks his car open. His hand is on the door.
He turns to her. His posture, his expression, have softened, become human once again.
For one unbearably long moment, the distance between them telescopes in, and Jackie believes he is coming toward her, coming for her.
But he merely raises his hand.
She closes her eyes, hears the car door shut, the squeak of tires on snow.
He’s gone.
Once inside, Jackie secures the door and pulls out her phone, her heart pounding. The Voice Memo app is open and the button is red.
“Got you, you bastard.”
She stops the recording and leans against the door in relief. She calls Cash and relates the gist of the encounter.
He lets out a low whistle. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Or I will be in a minute.”
“I’m sending a car around to be sure.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Jackie, if you can do it, send me the file now, the one from your phone and also the door cam. That way they’re safe. I’ll give them a quick review, then come over and take a statement.”
“I’m sending it now.” She finds the share button and sends it via text. “I’ve never accessed the camera’s video before, so give me a sec.” She clicks around the app, locates the link, enters the password. Her fingers are trembling, and she has to reenter it. Success. She presses send.
Seconds later, Cash says, “Got it. I’ll see you in twenty.”
