For the first time, she left without saying goodbye. Let Micah wonder for once. Let him worry that things were changing. She lifted her chin as she quietly shut his door, reveling in her pitiful scrap of power.
The lobby was quiet when the elevator doors opened. She tugged up her scarf and made a beeline for the entrance.
“Hey!” the lobby attendant called from behind his desk.
Veronica jerked to a stop and glanced carefully over her shoulder.
He was coming around the desk, moving toward her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, palms instantly damp with sweat.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Walking closer, he smiled and held up his phone. “I saw you online yesterday. Right? The kid? The one in the mountains? Your husband found him!”
The phone’s screen glowed with a picture of her family standing on their browning lawn behind a gaggle of microphones. Veronica’s stomach dropped. Her head went hot and dizzy. “I . . . I . . .”
“That’s so cool.”
“Yes,” she managed to croak.
“Can I get a picture with you?”
The heat was spreading all over her body now. Her armpits grew slick with sweat. Her hairline itched with it. “I . . . I’d rather not. I’m sorry. It’s kind of a sensitive issue. Privacy . . . I work in health care.”
He frowned in confusion. He held the lie about her privacy right in his hand.
“I’m going to be late,” she blurted out, swinging around to rush toward the doors. “Sorry! But thank you!”
Luckily the door pushed out or she might have broken her wrists slamming into the glass. She burst into the night air and rushed toward the corner. As soon as she reached it, she ducked around the wall and pressed herself against the stone, gulping in cool oxygen.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God, oh God.” Was he going to mention her online? On Twitter or Facebook or wherever kids hung out now? He was. That was what people did these days. She’d done it herself when she’d seen a reality TV star at the airport last year. Guess who I spotted???
And she’d been rude to him, so he’d be happy to post her private information online. Why not? But would he remember how many times he’d seen her before? Would he look through the book for her name and discover the truth? That she visited number 1505 every single week? Over and over, her name signed as if she were proud of it, as if she were bragging. Because maybe she had been until now. She’d felt wild and free and cocky, taking what she wanted. But now all she felt was dry-mouthed terror.
She shook her head, trying to deny the danger. “It’s no big deal,” she murmured. “You’re being paranoid.”
There was no reason for him to suspect an affair. It wasn’t written on her skin, was it? On her wrinkled clothes and languid muscles? Surely the smell of sex and heartache must be muffled by her dress.
The crisp air finally began to work its magic, and she stopped panting. But the moment her body calmed, the damp sweat turned to ice, and she was shivering.
Everything was fine. It had to be. She couldn’t give this up. And if it was a risk, it was worth it. She didn’t want Micah exposed and she didn’t want her daughter to know, but, other than that, what danger was there?
Veronica nodded to herself, pushed off the wall, and hit the crosswalk light just in time to make it to the other side safely. Teeth chattering, she ducked her head and hurried toward the side street where she’d parked her car. She was fine. She was good. As ready as she could be to return home to her hero and dutifully reflect his own light back at him. This was his moment to shine, after all. She couldn’t deny him that.
CHAPTER 7
She expected to be greeted by a blaring television and bright kitchen lights when she walked in from the garage. Instead she stepped into a pool of quiet darkness no different from the night she’d driven through to get home. Old Man’s nails clicked quickly across the kitchen floor. Veronica scratched his head. “Where is everyone?” she asked, the nape of her neck prickling with anxiety.
Old Man didn’t answer, so she let him outside before phoning her mom. “Has Johnny not picked up Syd yet?”
“No, not yet. But we’re fine. We had a lovely dinner.”
“It’s nine. Sydney has homework—”
“She did it already. She’s good. We’re eating ice cream now.”
Veronica heard a cheerful “Hi, Mom!” in the background.
“I don’t know where he could be. He didn’t get in touch?”
“Not yet.”
She frowned, glancing out the window as if the dark street beyond hid a secret. “That’s really strange. I’d better come by. Maybe—”
“Wait,” her mom interrupted. “I see headlights. Johnny just pulled up. No worries! They’ll be home in a jiffy.”
Veronica signed off with a sigh of relief. They were a fifteen-minute drive away. She just had time to rush through a shower and get into her pajamas. Tonight she felt jumpy and self-conscious, and washing the guilt off her skin helped calm her nerves immensely.
She stayed in the shower as long as she dared, until the steam cleansed even the memory of Micah’s scent from her. She wouldn’t be able to pretend she could still smell him on her skin tonight. Tonight was a time for caution.
When the door to the garage opened, she rushed toward the kitchen with a wide smile. “Hello!” she called out to both of them. “How was your day?”
Sydney was through the door first and she began chattering with excitement and probably a sugar high as Old Man trotted inside and circled her legs. “Mom, everyone saw the video of Dad. It was crazy. Oh my God, he’s so famous at my school now. They want you to come speak, Dad. Like, maybe to my class or something?”
“Wow! Okay. Sure.” Johnny tousled her curls and smiled, but his eyes looked tired.
“And I’m pretty famous too,” she continued. “I mean, no one else at the school has ever been on the news. Well, there was that time when Bailey’s Girl Scout troop got an award, but that was, like, fifteen of them, so it’s not the same as—”
“Time to brush your teeth!” Veronica cut in. “You and Grandma partied way too late tonight. Tell me the rest of it when I’m tucking you in.”
Sydney bounded down the hall, more cheerful than she usually was about bed as Old Man scrabbled after her. “Five minutes!” Veronica called before turning back to Johnny. “Hey,” she said more quietly. “How are you doing? Long day?”
“God, yeah. It was crazy. So many people stopped by. I signed six new clients.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” He nodded and scrubbed a hand over his face. “And a couple of reporters came by the gym too.”
“Reporters?”
“Yes. Everyone wants the story.”
She clenched her jaw, trying and failing to hold back that old anxiety about what Johnny was really up to. “So that’s why you were so late? Reporters?”
“Yeah. But not really, I guess.” He opened the fridge and peered in. “The police asked me to stop in to answer a few more questions.”
“The police?” She froze in the act of hanging Sydney’s backpack on its hook next to the back door. “Why?”
“Just clearing up some details about where I found the boy. Whether I could tell which direction he’d come from. Who else I saw on the trail. That kind of thing. You know how it is.”
“I mean . . . I guess. Were you able to help?”
“Not sure,” he said, head still in the fridge. “They said they’d be in touch again.”
“Wow.”
“It was no big deal,” he snapped.
“Okay. Fine.” She honestly had no idea what they could learn from a man who’d just stumbled across this child, but maybe it was the kind of information that would help with future searches. “Did they say anything more about him? He wasn’t injured or anything?”
“They didn’t say much. We should probably watch the news. I’m sure there’ll be an update soon.”
“Le
t me get Syd ready for bed. Maybe you could take Old Man for a walk.”
“Sure. Great.” He finally grabbed a beer and slammed the fridge door. Then he was lost in his phone before she left the room. No different from any other night, really, though he seemed to be bouncing from excitement to grumpiness more quickly than normal. She told herself he was exhausted. Anyone would be.
Sydney was still high on ice cream and happiness, and Veronica had to redirect her three times to keep brushing her teeth. “Do you have that spelling test tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes.” She wiped her face on a towel. “Grandma helped, though. I’ve got it all down pat.”
Veronica smiled at hearing her mom’s words come from her daughter’s mouth. “Great. Do you want to read on your own for a few minutes, or do you want me to read to you?”
“Read to me,” she answered, not surprising Veronica in the least. Sydney only very rarely chose reading on her own. She was a good reader, but interacting with people was so much more fun for her.
“Okay. We’re already on chapter twelve! Ready?”
Fifteen minutes later she looked up from the story to see that Syd was asleep, and she closed the book and slipped her phone from her pocket.
You snuck out, a text read, and Veronica caught herself smiling slyly in response. In fact, she was so pleased that she didn’t even text back. Let him be the one left wondering about their status for once.
A hollow victory, of course. He wouldn’t stay up late waiting for a message that wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t obsessively check his texts and then emails and then back to texts again. That was strictly Veronica’s domain. He didn’t have to worry about her at all. Not unless she forced him to.
She checked her email in spite of herself, but her box was full of spam and one email from work. She made note of a schedule change for the next day, then locked her phone and spent a few minutes straightening one corner of Sydney’s hopelessly messy room before shutting off the light and closing the door.
Johnny was just where she’d left him, drinking a beer and staring raptly at whatever social media he’d logged into.
“Any news?” she asked.
“Channel two posted a story that mentioned where I train, so that’s good.”
“I meant about the boy.”
“Oh. No. The family hasn’t said anything else.” He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Maybe they’re trying to protect his privacy or something.”
“Are you worried?”
He looked up sharply. “No. About what? Why would I be worried?”
“I just thought maybe you were concerned for his health.”
“They say he’s fine,” he snapped.
She held up her hands at his snippy tone. He was probably concerned it would tarnish his image as the hero if the boy turned out to be ill or injured. Still, she’d hoped his weeks-long bad mood had ended with the uptick in clients.
He tossed the beer bottle in the recycling bin and got another, sighing as if he were trying to let go of his stress. “I’m still getting lots of calls. This is all so crazy.”
“I bet. You should come to bed. You look tired.” She only made the offer because she knew he’d say no, and, sure enough, he shook his head. “The news is almost on.”
“Right.” She glanced at the muted TV screen and held back a sigh. “I think I’ll get some sleep. It’s been a crazy couple of days. There’s still leftover stir-fry in the fridge if you want it. I’m sure there are a few pieces of pizza too.”
His head tipped down toward his phone again. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“And could you take Old Man out for a quick walk?”
He grunted.
Veronica retreated to the bedroom and the new book awaiting her. She’d been trying to slow her reading to wait for Micah to catch up, but she felt too pitiful putting it off for him. And if she were being honest with herself, she was worried she’d have to put off her reading forever.
She was three pages in when she tossed the book down and picked up her phone. I didn’t want to wake you, she typed. You looked so peaceful.
Minutes dragged past with no response until she finally turned her phone facedown and retrieved the book, determined to put him from her mind. Her efforts were as successful as they ever were, and she dreamed of him again. They were the only dreams she remembered anymore.
CHAPTER 8
One more day at the rehab center, and then she could retreat to her rounds of senior-living facilities and the sweet escape of gossip. There was always so much gossip. They should really do a Real Housewives of Sunset Village television show. Once the ratio got to one man to five women, things got vicious real quick.
Idly wondering whether Bess from the third floor had confronted her boyfriend about his indiscreet cheating, Veronica stowed her purse in a locker tucked into the break room of the small center. When a hand wrapped around her elbow, she jumped in shock and glanced back to see who’d grabbed her.
Caitlyn’s face loomed. “It’s weird that I’ve never heard about this support group, isn’t it?” she asked.
Veronica shot an irritated glare at the woman’s pale hand. “What?”
Caitlyn tightened her hold for a quick moment before Veronica turned around, jerking her arm away.
“The rehab support group,” the other woman said.
A prickle of alarm ran up Veronica’s neck, her primal instincts reacting more quickly than her brain.
The rehab support group. Oh no.
Her mouth twisted into a grimace of sheer panic she hoped to disguise as irritation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Johnny told the paper you lead a support group for the rehab center. Which is kind of strange, since I haven’t heard of it.”
The prickle spread up Veronica’s scalp and down her spine. This was exactly what she’d feared and it was happening right here, right now. “What? What paper? He was talking about me?”
Caitlyn smirked, triumph flaring in her eyes. “The Post did a little profile of him because he’s a local hero. Isn’t that sweet? He talked about you and your daughter. He’s very proud of you both. So cute. But we don’t have a support group, so I thought that was so odd. I even asked around. No one knows what he’s talking about.”
This was the cloud that had clung to her from the first moment she’d seen Johnny in that video. This publicity. This exposure. Because that was what this was. She was exposed. Not by the lobby attendant at Micah’s building, but by her own husband.
There was no support group on Wednesday nights. There never had been.
Her panic had released a burst of adrenaline into her blood and now Veronica’s brain was working overtime, analyzing escapes and attacks. “I . . . Um . . . I guess Johnny phrased it badly.”
“Phrased what badly? There is no support group, Veronica. I already corrected him on Facebook.”
Jesus. This woman was going to ruin her. Ruin her marriage. Ruin her reputation.
Okay, if Veronica were being fair, she’d admit she was ruining all of it just fine on her own, but she wasn’t feeling fair. She was feeling cornered.
“He misspoke, Caitlyn. I do host a support group. But it’s not about the rehab center.”
“Then why did he say that?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea what he said. Journalists screw up details all the time. Why are you so concerned?”
“I just thought it was so weird he would say that. What kind of support group is it? Maybe I could recommend it to some of my—”
Veronica leaned her face so close to Caitlyn’s that the other woman jerked back. “That’s none of your business,” she hissed.
“My word!” Caitlyn gasped, feigning innocent offense as she raised a hand to her chest.
Veronica forced a tight smile, but she let her eyes stay hard. “You understand that support groups deal with extremely private, personal matters, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Then please don’t
make me escalate this situation.”
Caitlyn grimaced in confusion. “Oh, come on. What situation?”
“Exactly.” Veronica dipped her chin in a nod. “I’m glad we can agree on that.”
Caitlyn gaped at her as Veronica slammed her locker and stepped into the main rehab area to get ready for her first client. She kept her head high and settled a pleasant smile on her face, but her hands were trembling. She needed to get a look at that article. Why hadn’t Johnny said anything about it?
She pulled her phone from her pocket and her irritation faded back to fear. Johnny had texted her about the paper that morning. In fact, he had sent six texts and she’d glanced at the last two and ignored the rest. Right there in the first one was a link to the Denver Post write-up.
She read through it quickly, and her shoulders relaxed a little. Johnny had mentioned the fictional support group in passing. He hadn’t placed her there on Wednesday nights. Even if that lobby attendant saw this, he wouldn’t leap to his feet and shout out her lies to the rest of the world. Her secret was safe. Probably. As long as Caitlyn hadn’t stirred things up too much.
Most of the story had been a puff piece about Johnny’s training business and outdoor habits. He’d even claimed that the Kittredge trails were some of his favorites, as if he were pumping up the little mountain town. The mention of Veronica’s support group had been a tiny blip on the screen.
With a quick glance out the window to be sure her client wasn’t on her way in, Veronica checked Johnny’s Facebook page. Sure enough, he’d posted a link to the article. And, sure enough, Caitlyn had posted her correction in his comments, along with a shrugging emoji and four question marks.
Bitch.
But it hardly mattered. There were upward of a hundred comments, all of them praising Johnny. He probably wouldn’t notice Caitlyn’s. If he did, Veronica could play it off. It’s not associated with the rehab center. I organized it for some of my clients. Caitlyn is jealous that she isn’t invited to participate. She’s petty.
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