One Perfect Morning

by Pamela Crane

  Unless it wasn’t Robin. It didn’t look like her handwriting, but if it wasn’t her, then who? I had no enemies of late … none that I knew of, at least.

  Placing the note on my kitchen counter, I felt its hate, then the unfamiliar sting of tears. I tasted the foreign tang of mourning. I hadn’t cried once since Tony left me, but suddenly my emotions and sadness and grief were alive and kicking.

  I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. My eyes stung, my throat was sticky, my body ached from heaving sobs. I fell back into bed face-first, dulling the brightness of the streetlight outside my window with my pillow. Maybe I could suffocate all the sorrow away.

  As my bedroom faded into a black haze, I wondered how I would move forward from here. There was only one way to smother the worry and fear churning in my skull, one way to pull the plug on my life support: tell Robin everything, then watch helplessly as all of our lives imploded.

  Chapter 11

  Mackenzie

  MONDAY

  I’ve never feared death, even as a child. Instead, I fear life. Life is much more horrifying and soul-shredding and cruel than death could ever be. But this fear had never felt more real, more alive than it did right now.

  I sat silently in Aria’s room as the dawn broke through her semi-closed window blinds. Watching her sleep took me back to a time when things were much simpler. I had thought her bedwetting days were the worst it could get. Night after night she’d wake up covered in pee soaking her pink horsey bedspread and Scooby-Doo pajamas. Every night, no matter what time I cut off drinks or how many times I made her pee in the potty before bed, the whole house would shudder awake as her cries drifted to my bedroom. And every night I’d change the reeking sheets and cuddle her back to sleep for another couple of hours until dawn.

  This is the worst of it, I’d thought back then with sleep-deprived certainty. It’ll get easier as she gets older.

  And for a while, I was right. Up until age ten or so, when her desire for independence started showing. It was the little things at first: not wanting me to kiss her in front of friends; needing personal space. But she was still princesses and ponies and ballerinas – little girl dreams and little girl dramas. Everybody said she was the perfect teenager, the rare one who didn’t turn into a rebellious hellion overnight. I often said it myself. But last night … last night she sullied that absurdly Pollyannaish image beyond repair. I wasn’t experienced or sophisticated enough to handle this – whatever it was. It was mind-boggling, and there were no easy answers. Hell, I didn’t even know the right questions.

  I had married the only man I’d ever made love to. I’d gone through four years of high school and two years of college with my virginity intact – maybe it was because I was a prude, or maybe it was because I wasn’t given an option otherwise. The boys weren’t exactly kicking down my door, and even if they did, Daddy would have chased them away with his shotgun. He really was that archaic stereotype, clinging to outmoded chivalric notions of virtue, and protecting his daughter at any cost.

  How different things were now. How different my experiences were from Aria’s. I’d imagined a parallel life for us; we were always so much alike, after all. We got along so well, shared the same interests. I’d always thought our relationship to be more like gal pals than mother and daughter – fluid and easy. Boy, was I wrong. I clearly had no idea who she was. In the face of my sleeping daughter, I could no longer recognize the little girl who sucked her thumb and fell asleep with a board book in her tiny, chubby hands.

  ‘Honey,’ I whispered, not sure I should wake her, but too worried not to try. I sat next to her, in the crook of her bent knees. I swept her sweaty hair out of her face, pressing my palm to her cool forehead. ‘How you feeling, sweetie?’

  Her eyelids fluttered open, then squinted back shut.

  ‘My head hurts so bad. Can you get me some pain medicine?’

  ‘Sure, honey. But we need to talk about last night.’

  She groaned, curling into the fetal position and holding her stomach.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick, Mom. Can we talk about it later?’

  ‘I just want to make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘I feel like I’m dying. Am I dying?’ She opened her eyes and grimaced. I recognized that hungover plea for sweet death and smiled. I might have been a prude in high school, but I drank my share of hunch punch.

  ‘No, honey, you’re not dying. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Are you okay after what happened with Ryan?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She looked up at me, puzzled.

  ‘You know … you and Ryan …’ Please don’t make me say it aloud.

  Her expression was blank, confused. ‘Ryan? Mom, my brain hurts too much to try to figure out your hints. Just spit it out.’

  ‘You don’t remember last night – what happened?’

  ‘No. I don’t even know what day it is. Do I have school today?’

  I rubbed her back like I used to do when she was little. ‘Yes, it’s Monday, but you already missed school. I’m trying to see if you recall the party at Robin and Grant’s house last night. Nothing?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, the party. I know Ryan and I shouldn’t have been drinking, but I just wanted to try it. I had no idea I’d wake up feeling like this. Please don’t tell me I did something mortifying in front of everyone …’

  ‘You did get drunk, honey. And …’ I stopped. I couldn’t put words to the horror of seeing my daughter with Ryan on top of her. Her hollow eyes staring up at him, his hungry gaze locked on his prey. Because that’s what she was, wasn’t it? His conquest.

  My fists tightened as I let the truth sink in, boiling my blood. I wanted to kill Ryan. A dozen ways to do it flashed through my mind. I shook the rage away. He was only a boy. He was Robin’s son. I needed to remember that. He was practically family. I was there at his birth. I was at his baptism. I went to his Little League games and now to his high school ones.

  Ryan was the kind of kid who visited his elderly next-door neighbor because he didn’t want her to be lonely. The one who took Aria under his wing when she first started high school so that she wouldn’t get lost finding her classes. He never struck me as a typical adolescent boy, but how well did I know him, really?

  ‘Am I grounded?’ Aria pressed her fingertips to her temples. ‘I won’t even care if it means I can go back to sleep and make this headache stop.’

  ‘We can talk about this another time,’ I decided aloud. We would figure this out together, later. Maybe I was overreacting.

  ‘Sorry, Mom, but I don’t feel so good—’ Aria paused and looked up at me pitifully. ‘I’m going to throw up.’ She bolted up, the bedsprings squealing as the quilt clung to her halfway across the floor. A moment later I heard the bathroom door slam shut as she heaved into the toilet.

  I couldn’t tell if she had any recollection of what happened other than drinking. Maybe the full memory would return to her, but what if it didn’t? I didn’t know what any of this meant. Should I tell her? Should I let her remain blissfully ignorant? It was uncharted territory that I had no idea how to navigate.

  The truth felt like swallowing sand. All I knew was that I saw what I saw, I was the only person other than Ryan who knew what happened, and my sweet baby girl’s innocence had been stolen.

  Unless Aria wasn’t so innocent. What if it hadn’t been her first time? A teenage girl was bound to keep secrets. It wouldn’t be the first time a mother discovered her daughter was living two different lives – one at school, one at home. What did I really know about my own child? Absolutely nothing. I only knew what she showed me, and last night I’d seen more than enough.

  But that look on her face … the confusion and vacancy … it told me a story that I was afraid to read. A story that my daughter had no idea what had been done to her, and she couldn’t stop the ending even if she tried. The ending would be the same no matter what I did – my daughter’s soul would be broken.

  Murderous rage b
ubbled up inside me. Maybe Daddy was right all along. Daddy said teenage boys were no good; that their brains were in their peckers and sex was all they thought about, the only thing they wanted. Well, I wanted to wrap my fingers around Ryan’s scrawny throat and squeeze the life out of him. And if I couldn’t follow through with killing the little shit, I knew someone who would.

  Chapter 12

  Robin

  TUESDAY

  I felt the crack in my heart splitting deep. A physical pinch in my chest. It had been two days. Two excruciating, torturous days holding in this suspicion. I couldn’t bury it any deeper, so I decided to unleash it on the one person I knew would listen and understand.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind a visitor, Mac.’ I stood on her front porch wearing Bermuda shorts, a V-neck T-shirt with PINK glittered across the front, and Collette on my hip. May in Pennsylvania was the perfect time of year, when the winter chill you thought would never end had finally thawed into balmy spring, but summer hadn’t scorched the grass brown just yet. Purple and pink hyacinth sprang up along the sidewalk, their sweet fragrance hanging in the air like fresh linen on a clothesline.

  ‘Hey, Robin. What are you doing here?’ Mackenzie looked less than happy to see me and barely opened the door.

  ‘I need someone to talk to. Are you busy?’

  ‘Um, kind of.’

  Something wasn’t right. Mac never turned me away. Ever. Bored housewife plus neglectful husband plus coffee plus baby kisses always equaled yes.

  ‘Collette needs some Aunty Mac time.’ The bribe that never failed.

  I’d never told Mac the truth, but I often wished she’d had Collette instead of me. Her heart ached for more kids; mine ached because of them. I’d been taking birth control religiously, but apparently I was the one percent statistic when Collette was conceived.

  After Willow I had planned to be done. My boy and my girl. The perfect family foursome. Then came Lucas, a surprise that wasn’t exactly welcomed, but not unwelcome either. Definitely done, Grant and I agreed. And then the birth control oops. Here comes Collette! I had finally enjoyed the luxury of a full night’s sleep right before she was born, and Grant and I even made room for a couple of date nights each month. Now it was back to two hours of sleep each night and a head full of hair that was quickly turning gray.

  ‘Well, okay. Come on in.’ She waved me in while her coffee sloshed precariously close to the mug’s rim. She was still in her silk pajamas, her hair a disheveled mass of blond knots.

  She pulled a few strands over the scarred side of her face. Even after all these years she still tried to hide it. It broke my heart that she dwelled on this one physical flaw when so much beauty lived inside her. It broke my heart even more that I was the reason she had to hide her face at all.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t call first.’ It was a formality, really. When you’ve been friends for more than twenty years and a crisis arises, you never need to call first. At least never until now.

  ‘It’s okay. I actually need to talk to you too.’

  ‘Uh-oh. Sounds serious. You sure you should be wearing jammies for this conversation?’

  I laughed, but Mac didn’t. Suddenly I felt awkward, like a stranger in her home.

  ‘Coffee? Tea? Hard liquor?’ Mac offered.

  ‘Ha! After Sunday night I think I’ll be laying off the alcohol for a while. Coffee sounds great. I’ll serve myself; you sit.’ I passed Collette to her waiting arms and grabbed the same mug I always used – a gift I’d given her a few Christmases ago. I’d had it personalized with an old picture of me, Mackenzie, and Lily at a college dance. We were striking Charlie’s Angels poses, fingers pointed like guns in different directions. Fresh-faced, hopeful, and uncorrupted … before we understood real life was messy and unscripted, and perfect hair, teeth, and bodies were only on TV.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ Mackenzie asked, sitting at the breakfast table that she had refinished in a French country style – slick cocoa brown on top, contrasting white painted legs. She’d poured hours into making it perfect – sanding, staining, painting … it sounded grueling when it was easier to just click ‘purchase’ on Wayfair. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at her ingenuity and thriftiness, especially as I sat on a $40,000 mountain of debt that I had yet to tell Grant about.

  ‘Been having a rough patch lately,’ I admitted with a shrug as I dropped into the chair across from her. ‘I think something’s going on with Grant.’

  ‘Something like what?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I just … I think he’s lying to me about something.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Mackenzie, always the logical one. Always assuming the best about people. Sometimes it balanced my more skeptical nature, but right now it simply irritated me. For once I wanted her to side with me, not question me.

  ‘On Friday night he told me he was playing poker with the guys, but I asked Owen about it at dinner on Sunday and he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. It just seemed so sudden – Grant hadn’t mentioned the game, then suddenly he’s running out the door. Maybe I’m being paranoid.’

  ‘He has other friends he plays poker with, right?’

  It was a reasonable question, one a spouse should be able to answer. I should know who he hangs out with, who his friends are. And yet no one else came to mind.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. The only friends I’ve ever been aware of are Owen and Tony … and God knows where Tony is these days. It’s not like Grant invites anyone else to our house for barbecues or has ever mentioned golfing with anyone from work. Don’t you think, as his wife, I should know about his social life?’

  ‘Well, yeah, sure. But have you ever asked him?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think I had to.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got work buddies. It’s probably guys he works with.’

  ‘Mac, he works primarily with young female nurses. So if he is making work buddies, we might have a problem.’

  ‘Just ask him and stop overthinking it.’

  Maybe I was overthinking it. Just because I shared every detail of my day with Grant – minus my secret compulsive shopping – and introduced him to every single one of my friends didn’t mean it came naturally to him to do the same. All I needed to do was talk to him about it. Easy. Problem solved. And yet why did I dread that conversation?

  ‘I guess you’re right. I don’t know why it’s been bothering me so much.’

  Collette began fussing in Mac’s arms, reaching for me. I tickled her bare feet, then lowered her to the floor where she flopped on her chubby legs. She gripped my index finger as she raised herself back to standing, one arm resting on the chair’s edge for support.

  ‘Well, I declare, is she walking already?’

  ‘Close to it. She’s taken a few steps. Haven’t you, my sweetie-poo-pumpkin-head?’ I kissed her round cheek as drool dribbled down her chin.

  Collette released her grip and fell in a heap on the floor, arms and legs in vigorous motion as she scooted away under the table. I turned my attention back to Mackenzie, whose face was strangely ashen.

  ‘You okay? You don’t look so good.’

  ‘No, I’m not okay.’ Her tone was solemn. Mackenzie sipped her coffee, then looked at me like she had something to say. ‘I need to tell you something,’ she began, her voice cracking. She placed her mug on the table. Her eyes watered, and fear filled me.

  ‘You can tell me anything. What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s about Aria … and Ryan.’ She stopped, exhaled, then continued. ‘Something happened on Sunday night.’

  Aria and Ryan had been friends since birth. They were fixtures in each other’s lives because of my friendship with Mac. Like brother and sister. ‘Something like what?’

  Mackenzie glanced away, tears clinging to her eyelashes. Her gaze seemed glued to a simple square vase of fresh-cut hyacinths. She couldn’t even look at me.

  ‘Mackenzie, please talk to me. You’re worrying me.’ I teetered between anger an
d terror.

  Turning back to me, the muscles of her jaw tensed. ‘I caught them having sex in the basement.’

  Like a trapdoor beneath me swung open, I plummeted. ‘What?’ I yelled. ‘Are you serious?’

  She nodded wordlessly.

  I didn’t know what to say. I knew Ryan had become sexually active about a year ago when I found condoms in his underwear drawer. He had just turned seventeen, after all, and I figured it would happen sooner or later, no matter how much I preferred he wait. It was a short conversation, one that Grant took the lead on, that went something like this:

  Grant: Your mom found condoms in your room, Ryan. Are you thinking about having sex, son?

  Ryan: You don’t need to have this conversation with me, Dad. I’m already having sex. And yes, I’m being safe.

  Grant: As long as you’re being careful, we don’t need to talk about it unless you want to.

  Ryan: I will never want that conversation, Dad.

  Grant: All righty.

  Ryan: Okay.

  Grant: Want to watch the Steelers game with me?

  Ryan: If it will make this less awkward, yes.

  We never discussed girls or sex again after that, and I was perfectly happy leaving that topic in Grant’s domain. Although, as a doctor, I had secretly hoped he might discreetly leave some pamphlets on venereal diseases and HIV on Ryan’s nightstand, but no, apparently that would be a violation of the rules of the Guy Club.

  ‘I had no idea they even liked each other like that,’ I said at length. ‘Please tell me they at least used protection?’ I asked at length.

  Mackenzie glowered. ‘Shit, Robin, I didn’t look to see whether or not he was wearing a rubber.’

  ‘It’s a valid question—’

  ‘You don’t understand, Robin. Aria was trashed. Your son had his way with my little girl and …’ She left the rest of the sentence hanging in thin air.

  ‘Are you implying that Ryan raped Aria?’ My breath left my lungs like I’d been sucker-punched.

  ‘No, I’m not implying it. I’m stating it as fact. Aria has no recollection of what happened that night. None. No memory whatsoever. But Ryan clearly knew what he was doing.’