The Girl in Kellers Way

by Megan Goldin

  Our relationship was never planned. Emily may say the same one day. Matt told me the usual things that cheating husbands tell their lovers. That his wife wasn’t there for him anymore. Their marriage was falling apart. That he couldn’t keep his hands off me. These days it’s the exact opposite. Alice is the only reason that Matt comes home at all.

  Matt’s returned late every single night this week. Never able to meet my eyes. He lowers his head as he walks past me, muttering one story or another to explain why he has arrived home at a ridiculously late hour. Exam preparations. An unscheduled faculty meeting. When he ran out of work-related excuses, he even tried the old flat tyre excuse the other night. He is running out of lies. I might not have a graduate degree, but stupid I am not.

  I never intended to become involved with Matt. It just sort of happened. He taught a seminar at my community college. That’s how I found out about the psychology study he was running. I volunteered to be a subject. More out of curiosity than for the meagre pay. Even then, for the longest time we had nothing to do with each other.

  Then one evening, after a night class, I stayed back to ask him a question. He was aloof and dispassionate as he answered my question while the other students streamed out.

  By the time he finished his detailed explanation there was nobody left in the lecture hall.

  It was already dark out. He insisted on walking me to my car. There had been an attempted rape a few weeks earlier and he said it wasn’t safe for me to walk alone after late lectures.

  ‘How about we get a drink?’ he said casually as he opened my car door for me. I could feel his eyes run down my body with obvious interest. The truth is that I wanted him too.

  We met up fifteen minutes later at a nondescript bar downtown. He ordered me a margarita and a whiskey sour for himself. The drink loosened me up. I flirted like crazy and drank too many tequila shots, which have always been my Achilles heel. He drove me to my one-bedroom apartment. An hour later, he left me in my bed, sated, as he drove back to his wife. It was my first affair with a married man.

  I have slivers of memories of the weeks that followed. Matt and me on the living room floor, in my bed, in the lake house loft where I lie now. We never used the master bedroom downstairs. That belonged to Laura. Matt was always very adept at compartmentalising his life.

  Now that I’m off my meds, memories return piecemeal like a strobe light flashing in my head. I try to catch them and keep them, though they are terribly elusive.

  I remember exactly what happened on the day that Roxy was killed. Matt and I had a fight, a really bad one. He’d been invited to talk at a conference in Montreal. I wanted to go with him, just the two of us. I suggested we ask Anne to take care of Alice. I told him it wouldn’t kill his mother to help out for once.

  He refused. He said I wasn’t making enough of an effort to bond with Anne. I stormed out of the house, taking Roxy with me on her leash. We walked up and down the neighbourhood until I’d cooled down. Then, just as I was about to cross the road to head home, a car sped around the corner. I stepped back onto the curb but it was too late for Roxy who, with her usual labrador enthusiasm, had pulled ahead of me on the leash. She bled something awful. I held her in my arms until her whimpers faded away. The driver didn’t stop.

  I think about that awful day as I lie on the bare mattress and look at the clear blue sky above the lake until it blurs into nothing. When I wake, it’s early afternoon. My head is pounding and my mouth is dry. Mostly, I’m hungry. I open a can of soup from the cupboard and heat it on the gas stove. I drink it out of a mug as I stand on the front porch and watch the lake waters lap gently against the jetty.

  This place relaxes me. I’ll come here again, when Alice is at school. It’s only a thirty-minute drive. I could bring groceries and fix up the garden. Maybe repaint the porch. I could restore it to its glory days, the way Laura did. When it’s all fixed up, I’ll bring Matt and Alice here as a surprise. We could swim in the lake and have a picnic on the shore.

  The door of the boatshed rattles in the breeze, as if to remind me that Alice would love rowing. I walk over and open the latch of the door. The metal fastener is rusted through. It comes loose in my hands. The timber door opens with a creak. The smell of mildew is so strong that I cover my nose with my palm. Along the wall is a shelf with deflated swimming toys stained with patches of dark mould. They haven’t been touched in years. Hanging off the wall is a row of tangled fishing rods. I lift up the canvas covering the rowboat to see if there are oars, to take Alice rowing. It’s empty except for an old, broken torch and a rusted pocket knife with its blade open.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mel

  The boys and I leaned against the whitewashed timber fence as we watched riders take their horses through their paces in the dirt paddock. The Sommerville Horse Ranch was busy with weekend horseback riding lessons and trail riders heading into the forest for mountain treks.

  I’d been meaning to stop back at the ranch to inspect the photo montage on the wall after Joe said he was certain he’d seen a photograph of Julie West. I’d initially dismissed it as a case of Joe being overenthusiastic. I’d since learned that Joe had good instincts. Like his dad.

  I figured I might as well get my kids outdoors while I followed up on Joe’s lead. I’d booked them in for a riding lesson, to make an outing out of a trip I had to make anyway. Let’s just say it didn’t go down too well at home when it actually came time for them to get into the car. Apparently playing virtual sports on electronic devices is preferable these days to doing sport yourself, or riding horses, or for that matter, just getting out of the house on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

  The bells tied to the handle of the reception door chimed when I pushed it open. Joe silently pointed out the photo at the top left of the montage as we walked into the reception area.

  ‘Sure is nice to see you here again so soon, detective,’ said Lacey, who was standing at the counter.

  ‘I thought it was about time for my sons to learn to ride.’ I gave both boys a warning look as they stood with pained expressions on their faces.

  ‘Do they have any riding experience?’ Lacey asked, taking off her reading glasses.

  ‘Not unless you count riding ponies at fairs when they were five.’

  ‘Mom,’ Joe groaned in embarrassment.

  ‘By the time we’re done with them, they’ll be naturals,’ Lacey said. She pushed over a clipboard with registration and waiver forms to sign.

  I helped the boys adjust their helmets while she led two horses to the paddock. When the boys were mounted, she opened the gate to let them inside the oval paddock, where an instructor with a weathered face and stetson hat was waiting for them.

  ‘Would you like to ride as well?’ Lacey asked me as she closed the gate.

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said, and meant it. ‘But not today. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you back in your office.’

  We walked together up the grassy slope to the reception building. ‘By the way,’ she said, with a note of embarrassment in her voice, ‘with the good weather we’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to get into our basement to look for the files that you asked for last time. I’ll do it first thing on Monday.’

  ‘That would be great,’ I said as we walked into the reception area. ‘Can I take a closer look at that photo on your wall?’

  ‘Sure, which one?’

  ‘Over there.’ I pointed at a dusty black frame in the top left of the photo montage. Lacey stood on the couch and took it down. It was a photograph of a young woman helping a child mount a horse. I was impressed. Joe had a good memory for faces.

  ‘Who is she?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  ‘That’s Julie,’ Lacey said. ‘She used to work here. Loveliest girl you’ll ever meet. A heart of pure gold.’

  ‘She doesn’t work here now?’

  ‘She got married. Moved away. It was a real shame. The kids just adored her, especially th
e autistic kids who came for therapy lessons. Julie had a magic touch with kids. And horses.’

  ‘You mentioned last time that I should speak with your weekend instructor.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Dylan has been working here for over a decade. In fact, he’s the instructor teaching your sons,’ she said.

  I went back down the hill to watch the rest of the lesson. By the last few minutes, the boys looked pretty comfortable on their horses as they trotted around the paddock.

  ‘That was awesome, Mom.’ Sammy’s eyes were glowing when he and Joe climbed off their horses.

  ‘Why don’t you boys go help brush down the horses. Then you can buy yourselves each an ice-cream,’ I said, handing them money. ‘I want to have a word with Dylan.’ I flashed Joe a look that told him not to hurry back.

  Dylan was sitting on the paddock fence with his sandy hair blowing in the wind. ‘They did well for their first ride,’ he said.

  ‘They enjoyed it,’ I said. ‘Listen, I work as a detective back in town. Besides bringing the boys here for a lesson, I also stopped by for help on a case. Do you have a minute?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, jumping down from the fence.

  ‘Is this woman familiar?’ I showed him a photo of Laura West taken in the months before she disappeared.

  ‘She looks like a former student. From years ago. I don’t recall her name but I remember her quite clearly because she was the most horse-scared person I’d ever met.’

  ‘Is it usual for someone with a horse phobia to take lessons?’

  ‘Some people don’t want to be afraid anymore. In most cases, they fell from a horse when they were young and have never ridden since. I don’t recall her reason, though,’ he said. ‘I didn’t work with her.’

  ‘Do you remember who trained her?’

  ‘An instructor called Julie,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t worked here for a long time. She mostly taught young riders. It was unusual for Julie to have an adult student. But this lady and Julie built a rapport. By the time she stopped coming here,’ he said, tapping Laura’s photo, ‘Julie had taught her how to ride a horse around the paddock. It might not sound like much, but for a lady that afraid of horses, it was one hell of a breakthrough.’

  ‘Where is Julie now? Do you know?’

  ‘She left to study full time at a college in town,’ he said. ‘I kind of lost touch with her after that.’ The slight flush on his tanned face suggested that Dylan had been sweet on young Julie. ‘I’d best get going. The next riders are ready for their class.’

  ‘Just one last question.’ I walked alongside him to the paddock gate. ‘Do you by any chance recall what time of the year it was when she came here for lessons?’

  ‘In the fall. It was just before I moved to Argentina for a year to work at a horse ranch there.’

  ‘I’ve left my card at the reception office,’ I said. ‘Call me if you remember anything else.’

  ‘There’s one other thing that I’ve never forgotten, now that you mention it,’ he turned to tell me as he opened the white timber gate to the paddock. ‘The last time I saw the woman in the photo, she came all dressed up in fancy riding boots and a red jacket. That get-up must have cost a small fortune. She rode by herself for the first time. Without any help. One loop around the paddock. When she was done, she dismounted from the horse, thanked us, and said she wouldn’t need any more lessons.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Julie

  I have a new routine. I drop Alice at school and drive straight to the lake house. I jog along the banks of the lake and then strip off my running clothes, down to my swimsuit, and dive into the water. I swim laps parallel to the jetty, backwards and forwards until I’m exhausted.

  After my swim, I lie on the rough timber of the jetty to dry off. Sometimes I fall asleep and wake languidly in the early afternoon. Other times I take a fishing rod from the boatshed and sit with my feet hanging over the jetty trying to catch a fish. I haven’t had a single bite but I still do it.

  This morning I dig weeds out of the garden bed and plant a dozen shrubs that I picked up from the nursery on the way over here. My work is paying off. The lake house is looking vibrant again. Reluctantly, I leave to collect Alice from school. How she would love it in this peaceful forest clearing. Instead, I take her back to our lonely house where most evenings it’s just her and me.

  Matt hasn’t been home for dinner in ages. He’s late tonight as well. After Alice and I have eaten dinner, I go out again with her, ostensibly to buy milk. Emily’s apartment lights are on. I can see inside through the partly open blinds. Matt is sitting at her kitchen counter with his back to the window. I can’t see his face but I recognised his posture. And his shirt, the blue chequered shirt I bought him for Father’s Day.

  I want to ring her doorbell and confront them. Enough with the deception. Then I remind myself those lies are the only reason we’re still together. Our marriage is based on deception. Matt lies to me and I lie to him. As long as neither of us acknowledges our lies then everything goes on as usual. It’s the lies that hold our marriage together like fast-drying glue.

  Matt still believes I am taking my meds, albeit a lower dosage because my mood has improved. In reality, I haven’t taken them for over a week. I feel amazing. The clarity of thought, the energy. I’m a different person.

  In the end, I sit in the car with Alice half asleep in the back seat watching Emily’s living room light flicker. I wonder what I’ve done to push him away from us.

  Three hours later, Matt is back at home. It’s close to 10 p.m. He has liquor on his breath. A cloud of Emily’s sickly sweet perfume hangs over him. It’s on his clothes, his skin, his hair. He makes no effort to disguise the increasingly obvious signs of his affair, sheepishly hoping I haven’t realised he is home three hours late. The cheating, lying bastard still won’t meet my eyes. He bends down to give me a dutiful chaste kiss. Our daily ritual.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he sighs, as if he’s exhausted from a long day at work. I know why he’s tired and it has nothing to do with work.

  ‘I got caught up correcting term papers,’ he says as he thumbs through the mail on the hall table. That way he doesn’t have to look at me while he spits out his string of lies.

  ‘You should have brought the papers home,’ I say. ‘You could have marked them in the study.’

  ‘I seem to focus better in my office,’ he says, rubbing his neck to reinforce the lie he’s spent the evening slumped over his desk at the university when he was actually in bed with Emily. He walks past me to the kitchen and opens the fridge. ‘Anything to eat?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say lightly, thinking to myself that bitch Emily does everything except feed him. ‘We have lasagne. I’ll heat up a piece.’

  I swill down a glass of white wine while the lasagne warms up in the microwave. When it’s ready, I take his plate to the table along with the wine bottle and two clean glasses. I sip my second glass of wine while I watch him eat.

  ‘I’ve never known you to stay this late marking papers,’ I blurt out. My voice is accusing. I regret saying anything. I don’t want a confrontation.

  ‘What’s your point, Julie?’ he snaps.

  ‘No point.’ I back off. ‘I don’t remember you working as hard as you’re working this semester. That’s all. It worries me that you might be, you know, overdoing it.’

  His eyes are still on my face.

  ‘I have a lot of students this year,’ he says. He speaks slowly. Like I’m an imbecile. ‘The university increased the intake to raise more money. It means more work and headaches for me. You know that. I’ve complained about it often enough.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say. I sip more wine. ‘Isn’t your teaching assistant supposed to help with marking papers?’

  ‘At the end of the day, I have to give the grades, so I have to read the papers,’ he says sharply. ‘I’d be doing my students a disservice if I did any less.’

  Matt does not like being second-guessed.
I’m on thin ice. I need to get off before it cracks. As long as everything has the veneer of normality then we might get through this crisis. Until the next one.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matt.’ I act contrite. ‘It’s just that Alice was disappointed she didn’t get to spend time with you today.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to her.’ His voice softens. ‘The bulk of my marking will be done by next week and then there’ll be less pressure.’

  Give the man an Oscar. He is so convincing he almost makes me believe he spent the evening hungry and tired in his office, bent over his desk, diligently marking his students’ work.

  Except his phone vibrates. A message pops up that he quickly blocks with his cupped hand.

  ‘Who’s texting you so late?’ I ask. Nausea wells in my throat as I wait for his answer.

  ‘Just an alert from the bank about a payment that went through.’ I can tell from how smoothly he says it that he is lying.

  As I get up to clear the dishes, I kiss him on the back of the neck, hoping to get a look at the screen of his phone. He quickly shuts it off and turns around to unbutton my shirt. He kisses my mouth. I remember where those lips have been and feel sick.

  ‘You’ve had a long day. I bet you’re tired.’ I move away. He tries to pull me back but I’m already out of reach.

  ‘I know that I’m exhausted,’ I say with an exaggerated yawn. I go upstairs and change for bed. To my relief, he doesn’t follow. I hear him watching television downstairs. The light flickers faintly up the stairs into the landing by our bedroom.

  Later, as we lie in our king-size bed with a giant gap between, us he says to me, ‘You’re not taking your medication, are you? You told me you were cutting it back to one capsule a day but we never agreed you could stop entirely.’