by A. J. Banner
To the river.
At the entrance to the trail, Mia’s pink hair ribbon dangled from a branch, as if Eris had deliberately put it there to lure me. The rain had stopped for the moment, but a new, destructive autumn storm brewed in black clouds. I’d left Mia with a psychopath. How could I have messed up so badly?
As I ran down the muddy trail, I began to cry, yelling for Mia, but nobody answered. The rain came down in a sudden squall, forming narrow rivulets on the trail, slipping inside my raincoat. My shoes became instantly waterlogged. I could hear myself yelling for Mia, my voice carried away on the wind. I finally spotted Eris in her yellow raincoat, poised at the high riverbank, holding on to a much smaller, whimpering person.
“Mia!” I shouted, running toward them. “Eris, let her go!”
“Don’t come one step closer,” Eris yelled. She yanked Mia closer to the cliff. The wind picked up, whipping the trees. A branch snapped across the river, crashed into the water.
“Don’t you dare hurt her!” I shouted, shivering. “Get away from the edge!”
“Or what? Stay where you are.” Eris stepped closer to the embankment. Clods of soil tumbled down into the river.
“Give Mia back to me.”
Mia cried, and Eris yanked her arm, nearly pulling it out of the socket. “Shut up, you little bitch.”
Mia fell silent.
“Let her go,” I said again, trying to keep calm. “Mia, everything is going to be okay.”
“Auntie Sarah!”
“Don’t talk to her,” Eris said.
“What do you want?” I said.
“You know what I want.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me.”
“You should’ve died in the fire. Then none of this would be necessary.”
You should’ve died. The words blew through me with hurricane force. “Let her go. Mia, it’s okay. I’m here. Auntie Sarah is here. Eris, just tell me what you want.”
“That idiot didn’t know what he was doing. He set fire to the wrong damned house. They all look the same in that neighborhood. So I’ve had to fix everything.”
“You sent Todd to set fire to our house.”
“The man was an idiot pyromaniac with a drug habit. He didn’t know where to stop.”
Todd Severson. He’d been working for Eris all the time—fixing flushes and setting fires. “Don’t involve Mia,” I said. “Give her to me.” What if the police didn’t see the ribbon on the branch? What if they didn’t know where to go? I took out my cell phone.
“Make a call, and Mia goes in the river,” Eris said.
“Mommy!” Mia cried.
“Shut up,” Eris said.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I said.
“I went to him, you know,” Eris said in a childish voice. “But he doesn’t get it yet.”
“You went to whom? Johnny? When?”
“I gave him the time he needed. He finally escaped from you. So I went to see him. But he wasn’t ready.”
“What do you mean?” I inched forward, tried to gauge the distance between me and Eris. If I lunged, Eris would still have time to throw Mia into the river.
“Hold still,” Eris said. “You’re always trying something. Why didn’t I do the job myself? Because I’m nice. I give people the benefit of the doubt. After the fire, I had second thoughts. Two innocent people died. That was not my intention. This poor little girl suffered. Everyone suffered. Johnny suffered. I never wanted him to experience a moment of pain.”
“He’ll be in more pain if you hurt Mia.” My teeth chattered. Mia whimpered.
“No, he won’t. He doesn’t want her.”
“Yes, he does.”
“I thought, since Todd made such a mess of things, I would take a more compassionate route. Then I thought, maybe he didn’t make such a bad mistake, after all. I read your journal, about Johnny’s affair. Monique deserved to die.”
“No, she didn’t.” I’d written so much in that new journal . . . Had Eris read everything?
“I read about Jessie’s crush on Chad, such a sordid business. I thought her lovely boyfriend, Adrian, ought to know. Don’t you think?”
“You told him?”
“I take my responsibilities very seriously.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He could’ve killed her.”
“Oh, he would have done that all by himself, eventually. Jessie and Adrian, they were easy. You’re the difficult one. I tried to make you see, you are not the right woman for Johnny. But it wasn’t enough for you, all the evidence I threw right in your face.”
“What evidence?”
“Theresa. The receipt for the flowers.”
“You put the receipt in the cottage.” I inched forward again, a little at a time.
“I gave you so many chances. I showed you the perfect little writer’s retreat, nice and far away.”
“You told everyone Johnny and I were divorcing.”
“You didn’t buy the retreat. You’re an idiot.”
I took another step forward. “Let’s talk about this somewhere warm and dry—”
“Shut up!” Eris teetered close to the edge, slipping a little. Mia screamed. A few rocks tumbled into the rushing river. “You’re blind. What would it take? You just. Would. Not. Leave.”
“I see it all now,” I said. “You and Johnny are meant to be together. I’ll leave, but you have to give Mia to me.”
“You think I’m stupid? You babbled on about how much you miss him. Then you wrote all your melodrama in your journal. You decided you still love your husband. Blah blah blah.”
I struggled to see the Eris I thought I knew—the confident, helpful Realtor. My friend. “Let her come to me. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“What I want is not yours to give. You’ve always been in the fucking way. Johnny and I—the moment we met, I knew. All the signs were there. At my last follow-up appointment, we talked about everything. Real estate, art and architecture, our dreams. You don’t even know how to talk to him. You don’t share any of his interests. You beguiled him into marrying you.”
“Takes two to tango.” One more step and I could get close enough to grab Mia. Eris practically dangled her over the edge.
“I don’t get it. You in your frumpy clothes, clueless. But you’ve still got him under your spell. Did you threaten him?”
“What about Steve?”
“He’s my divorce attorney, you idiot.”
His frown, his brusque manner. It made sense now. “I’m taking Mia home,” I said. A crackle of lightning flashed overhead, a jagged line across the clouds—and a moment later, the crash of thunder. Mia burst into tears.
“Auntie Sarah. Mommy! Auntie Mommy!”
To hell with Eris. I raced forward, too late. Another lightning bolt split the sky as Eris shoved Mia down the embankment, sending her screaming and sliding down the steep slope.
“Mia! Grab on to a branch. Grab on!” I called. But Mia kept tumbling down, seemingly in slow motion, her little hands grasping on to shrubs, protruding branches, but slipping away, finding nothing to hold on to as she fell into the river.
“Mia!” I ran back and forth along the cliff, found an opening, and slid down on my rump, my hands scraping against jagged rocks. “Hang on, honey, I’m coming.”
But the current had already captured Mia, carrying her away. I glanced up toward the cliff, but I could see no sign of Eris. The embankment was too steep here; I could no longer even slide down. I had to fall, or dive, into the water. I had no choice. I held my breath and plunged into the icy depths of the black, rushing river.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I’m drowning.
The river’s current is tearing me apart. I’ve lost sight of Mia. What if she’s already dead? The driving rain blocks my view. Now and then, I glimpse shadowy trees swaying on the distant shoreline. But not her.
She’s gone—no, there, her head bobs to the surface, her face upturned. No, not yet. I strike
out after her, cutting through black water, but the current yanks me down; I swallow mouthfuls of water as I sink. My lungs fill with muddy liquid, but I fight my way upward. My lungs will explode, I can’t take any more, but now I break the surface, sucking in the cold air. I spit out sand and silt, the metallic taste of ice melt from the mountains. I hear it, the roar of the waterfall. I won’t reach her in time. She’ll hurtle over the edge, plummet to the rocks below. And I will follow, both of us battered and broken. There she is again, her face white against the darkness.
“Mia!” I cry. “Grab on to something!” But the roaring river absorbs my voice. It can’t end like this. I saved her once. I can save her again.
My mind sharpens, suddenly aware of the forest, a dragonfly flitting in an arc over the river, a towhee flying near the shore. Part of my brain remains calm. Don’t panic. Pilots don’t panic when their planes flip upside down. Astronauts don’t panic if they run out of air. They work to correct the problem. Panic does not save lives. And what about cave divers? Those brave souls who don scuba gear and descend hundreds of feet into those caverns filled with water, created over thousands of years? They pull nylon lines with them, hold on to the lines even when debris fills their field of vision, so they don’t know which way is up. They hold on, and by holding on, they survive.
These thoughts race through my mind in an instant, outside of time. I’m catching up to Mia. She floats facedown, her mermaid hair splayed out in the water. Her head bobs under, resurfaces. In one superhuman, final push, I reach her, grab her, and turn her over. Her eyes are closed, her face pale and serene, her lips blue.
“Stay with me,” I say, pulling her toward the shore. I’m losing strength. The water is too cold. The current drags me under again, and I almost let go of Mia. She floats like a rag doll.
A dark figure emerges high on the embankment. Eris. She follows us along the cliff toward the waterfall. The noise of the water grows louder, deafening now. Eris’s silhouette, high on the shoreline, wavers in the rain. We are dead, Mia and I—perhaps we’ve been doomed from the start. As I sink, a light appears in the sky, through the mirage of water.
My muscles turn to liquid. I can’t breathe, can’t hold on. Mia slips from my grasp.
“Sarah!” someone calls out. Sounds like Johnny. But how could he be here? I’m imagining his voice, his hand reaching down from the heavens to pull me to shore.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Boxes, piled in the cottage foyer.
After so little time here, Johnny and I have accumulated too many belongings. Perhaps it’s human nature to cling to the material world, to remind ourselves we’re alive. Still, I’ve learned to make do with fewer possessions, to cherish the beauty of moments. The rising sun on this clear winter morning; resident towhees flitting through the underbrush; the distant blare of the ferry foghorn as the boat glides into the harbor. But I could do without the rush of the river. In my nightmares, I’m still swallowing water, still reaching for Mia as she slips away.
Ryan Greene rescued her just in time. He brought medics with him, and the police arrested Eris. But it was Johnny who pulled me to safety. Johnny, my guardian angel.
He carries a box of dishes from the kitchen straight out to the trunk of his car. He returns in long, confident strides, although his hair is still rumpled from sleep. “Almost full,” he says.
“Good thing we’re almost done.” I pick up a box of clothes, but he stops me.
“You’re not supposed to lift anything,” he says.
“I’m fine.” But my lungs still ache a little. The doctor wanted to keep me in the hospital a second night, but I had to get out. I’ve had more than my share of hospital stays.
“I’ll do it.” He balances two boxes of clothes in his arms, but puts them back down when Ryan Greene arrives in his truck. He gets out looking like a weekend lumberjack in scuffed jeans, plaid shirt, and boots.
“Morning,” he says. “Moving day?”
“Can’t come too soon,” I say.
“Where you folks going?”
“Rental uptown,” Johnny says, shaking hands with Ryan.
“Until we figure out what to do,” I add.
Ryan nods, looks at his shoes, then up at me. “I just stopped by Sitka Lane, saw your neighbor, Felix Calassis.”
“How is he?”
“He saw Eris Coghlan the night of the fire, arguing with Todd Severson.”
That woman is trouble. “I thought he saw Jessie sneaking out. He meant he saw Eris.”
“Not sure he knows what he saw,” Ryan says. He pulls something from his back jeans pocket and hands it to me. A folded page covered in handwriting. My handwriting. My deepest emotions laid bare. The pain of betrayal. A page carefully removed from my journal, so I wouldn’t notice. My angry, messy cursive leans across the page.
“What’s this?” Johnny asks, coming up beside me.
“Nothing.” I hastily refold the page, tuck it into my pocket. My face flushes. I can’t look at Ryan. He must’ve read my words. It’s as if he caught me naked.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Johnny says. “What is it?”
“She stole it,” I say. “Eris did. A page from my journal.”
Johnny’s brows rise. He mouths “Oh.” He and Ryan trade a look, then Johnny says, “What page?”
“Just . . . musings.” I muster the courage to look at Ryan. “Where did you find this?”
“Among her belongings,” he says. “I thought you might want it back.”
“You don’t need it as . . . evidence?”
“We have what we need. The page belongs to you.” He holds my gaze.
“You knew it was mine. I can’t believe she took it. I feel . . . violated.”
“Don’t blame you,” Ryan says.
“Thank you,” I say. “For returning it.”
“No problem. It isn’t anyone’s to keep.”
Ryan looks toward Eris’s house. Johnny and I follow his gaze. Her entire property has been cordoned off as a crime scene. Two police cars sit in the driveway. Investigators are still combing through the rooms. Eris hid behind those reflective windows, watching us, waiting for her moment to slip into the cottage and steal my secrets.
While I was in the hospital, Ryan explained everything—her irrational obsession with Johnny, the laboratory evidence that linked her to Todd Severson, that identified him as the perpetrator who purchased the accelerant the night of the fire.
“Glad she’s in custody,” Johnny says. He takes my hand, his fingers warm and comforting.
Ryan nods at him. “The hang-ups on your cell phone. We traced them back to her.”
“Crazy,” Johnny says.
“Wasn’t the first time,” Ryan says. “We found a doc she stalked a few years ago. Before she focused on you. Wrote him letters, cards . . .”
“Shit,” Johnny says.
“She wrote the card with the garlic on it, about fire as a prelude to better things,” I say. “Didn’t she?”
Ryan nods. “Most likely.” He heads back to his truck.
I let go of Johnny’s hand and follow him. “What’s going to happen to her?”
“First step, arraignment. I’ll keep you posted.” He gets into the truck, rolls down the window, and looks at me. He and I share a strange intimacy now. He knows what I wrote about my husband, the terrible, scathing emotions.
I can feel Johnny behind me, silent, stoic.
“Have you seen the kid?” Ryan says.
“Yesterday,” I say. “She’s okay.” At Harriet’s place, Mia played quietly with her Barbie dolls, new ones we gave her. She was pensive, not saying a word. But she is alive.
“She’s got a long road ahead,” Ryan says. “Hard to recover from what she’s been through.”
“Thank you for saving her,” I say.
“You saved her,” Ryan says. “Twice now.”
He pulls out of the driveway and takes off down the road, leaving nothing but a wisp of exhaust in his wake.
CHAPTER FORTY
I park at the curb on Sitka Lane, right in front of the bare land where the two demolished houses once stood. I imagine the home Johnny and I shared, the light slanting in through the windows, the hydrangeas in bloom. I imagine my wedding ring, lost in the fire. I picture Monique standing on the back deck, reaching out for the bag of charcoal, her white-blond hair shining in the twilight.
“Sarah?”
I turn to see Pedra hurrying down her driveway in jeans and a blue shirt, not her usual splashes of color. She’s muted, subdued. She gives me a wordless hug, then steps back, and we look at each other. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. She grips my arm in desperation. “Oh, Sarah.”
“I got your message,” I say. “Sorry it took me a while to get here.”
“Did Jessie call you?”
“No. What’s going on?”
Tears spill from her eyes. She wipes them away. “Come. You must see.” Pedra ushers me across the street, into her house, and shows me Jessie’s room, unnaturally neat, her books arranged by height on the shelves. But she left gaps, as if she couldn’t bear to part with her favorites. And she took the jewelry box and some of the lotion and perfume bottles. She lined up the remaining bottles in perfect order. She left no clothes lying around. No sign of lace bras or thongs. But on the bed, she left a box with a handwritten note attached. I stole this stuff. It belongs to Monique Kimball.
I open the box. Inside I find Monique’s pen, makeup, journal. “You looked in here?” I say to Pedra.
She nods, sniffing.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Do you know where she went?”
Pedra shakes her head, trembling. “The police, they say they can do nothing. She is eighteen.”
“She didn’t press charges against Adrian, did she?” My heart is sinking.
