“Sarah did, but I haven’t heard back from Heather. What are we going to do? We have to talk—”
“Yes, but not over the phone.”
“Ali?” Michael’s voice startled me. He was standing in the front door.
“I’ve got to go,” I said to Julie, hitting the hang-up button and shoving the phone back in my coat pocket. It buzzed again almost immediately.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Michael said as I started toward him, surprised that my legs were holding me up. “Anyone interesting?”
“Just Julie.” The phone was buzzing and buzzing. I could feel it vibrating in my pocket. Could he hear it? I forgot I was still holding the letter until Michael said, “What’s that?”
“Just junk mail.” I shoved the letter into my pocket, too.
“We’re out of popcorn,” Michael said, holding the door open for me. “So I let the kids have ice cream.”
“How can they be hungry after all that food at the church?” I said, surprising myself by how normal I sounded. Was that my voice? I headed automatically toward the kitchen.
“Hey, why don’t you stay awhile,” Michael said. I turned back to see him standing in the hall, holding a hand out to me. When he saw the confusion on my face he added, “Your coat?”
“Oh, right.” I slipped it off, trying not to call attention to the letter in the pocket; I could see a white tip of the envelope poking up. I headed toward the closet, but Michael took it from me.
“I’ll get it for you.” He gave me a kiss that I couldn’t feel as he took the coat from my hands. I hovered for a second, afraid he’d feel the vibrating phone and pull out the letter along with it, but he just hung my coat in the closet and closed the door.
In the kitchen, the kids were chattering happily over bowls of ice cream, while George sat sentinel on the floor between their chairs, looking from one to the other with the hopeful expression of someone fully expecting something delicious to fall. It gave me an idea.
“I think I’ll take George for a walk,” I said.
“Really?” Michael said, surprised. “We just got home.”
“He’s been cooped up all day.”
“What’s the rush? He seems perfectly happy right now.” Michael stared at me quizzically.
“No rush.” I feigned a nonchalance I didn’t feel, leaning against the kitchen island.
“Do you want some ice cream?” he asked, filling a bowl for himself.
The thought of trying to eat anything made my stomach turn over. “No thanks,” I said, stepping past him to fill a glass of water at the sink. As soon as I could get a moment alone, I would text Julie and the others. We could meet at the park and figure out what to do. “$20,000 in cash…” How would we get that money? Where? I gulped the water down, the glass shaking in my hands. I had to set it down before I dropped it, crossing my arms to hide the trembling. I turned back to my family, trying to pretend I was listening to their conversation.
“Are you feeling okay, hon?” Michael asked, reaching over to rest the back of his hand against my forehead.
“Yes, why?” I pulled back, his touch startling me.
“Lucy’s trying to tell you something. You’re a thousand miles away.”
“What is it, Luce?” It took a huge mental effort to focus on my daughter.
She was giving me a mischievous smile, sitting there next to her brother at the wooden table, holding a spoonful of ice cream. Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, catching the gold in her light brown hair. “I know your secret!”
Adrenaline flooded me—now she had my complete attention. Had she been looking out the window and seen me with the letter? I struggled to keep my voice calm. “I don’t have a secret.”
“What is it?” Matthew said. “I want to know Mommy’s secret!”
“She can’t tell you, dummy, or it wouldn’t be a secret anymore,” Lucy said.
“Don’t call your brother dumb,” Michael said.
“I can so know the secret,” Matthew said. “Mommy says not to keep secrets, right Mommy?” Absorbing part of the message I’d tried to impart about not keeping it secret if someone ever tried to touch them inappropriately.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I’d tell you my secret, but I don’t have one to tell.”
“Uh-oh.” Lucy dropped her spoon and scrambled onto her knees on the chair, clapping both hands over her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “Mommy told a lie!”
“Hey, that’s enough,” Michael said reprovingly, even as my anxiety crossed into panic and paranoia. Could she somehow have overheard my conversation with Julie? Or with Sarah at the wake?
“But she did! She’s lying!” Lucy pointed a finger at me, her voice shrill, a small accuser at a witch trial. I suddenly smelled that rank, nose-curdling odor of blood and sulfur and saw Viktor’s gaping head wound.
“I don’t have a secret,” I repeated, even as Michael told Lucy to sit back down in her seat.
“What is it? I want to know the secret!” Matthew chimed in as Lucy sat down but continued to argue.
“There isn’t a secret,” I snapped. “Aren’t you done with your ice cream?”
“Babe, it’s okay,” Michael said to me, sounding surprised, as Lucy said to Matthew, “She doesn’t want to tell you.”
“I think snack time is over.” I picked up their bowls and headed toward the sink and Matthew burst into tears, not because I’d removed his bowl, but because he thought I wouldn’t tell him.
“All right, that’s enough,” Michael said to Lucy. “Either tell your brother the secret or you can go into time-out.”
“It’s Mommy’s secret,” Lucy said, her lower lip jutting out. What had she seen or heard? I tried to think of what I could say to distract Michael, to move them away from this topic, but he was focused entirely on Lucy.
“One,” he began, using that old parenting standby, the countdown, to force her to comply. “Two. You don’t want me to get to three, Lucy Elizabeth.”
“She doesn’t have to reveal someone else’s secret,” I protested, gripping the edge of the countertop. My words were lost by Lucy wailing that her father was “unfair.”
“Two-and-a-half—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell!” Her shriek was piercing.
“Now, please.” Michael sounded perfectly calm, but I was as flushed as our daughter, terrified at the prospect of what she’d reveal.
She gave a loud sniffle before announcing in a breathless tone, “Mommy ate ice cream for breakfast.”
Michael blinked, startled, and then tried to hide his smile, but Matthew twisted in his seat to look at me, his mouth open with shock. I sagged against the countertop feeling almost weak with relief, the look on Matthew’s face making me burst out in slightly hysterical laughter. I’d forgotten that Lucy had come upon me in the kitchen the other morning and caught me mindlessly eating mint chocolate chip straight from the container. I’d given her a taste as well. “Shh, it’s a secret,” I’d said, forgetting how literal kids could be.
“I want ice cream for breakfast, too,” Matthew said, quickly shifting his demands.
“Not a chance,” Michael said, sounding exasperated as he helped him down from his booster seat. “Go play and see if you and your sister can manage not to argue with each other for five minutes.”
Lucy seemed insulted by his comments and my laughter and stalked out of the room without speaking to either of us. “Kid drama,” Michael said with a snort. “I’ll get this,” he said, heading for the sink to rinse out the bowls.
“Thanks. I’m going to go change.” As I headed out of the kitchen I could hear Michael turn on the TV and the sound of glass clinking as he loaded the dishwasher. The front hall was empty. I checked to make sure that the kids weren’t hanging over the banister or lurking around the corner before quietly opening the door and retrieving the letter and my phone, hurriedly texting Julie once I was alone in my bedroom: Borough Park—one hour.
Her reply was swift: I’ll tell Sarah, but what about Heather?
I texted back: I’ll stop by her house on the way.
George didn’t need to be convinced about the park, tripping over his own paws and panting with excitement when he heard the rattle of his leash. Michael was a different story.
“Why the park? Are you okay to drive?”
“Don’t be silly—that was over an hour ago.” And the letter had completely sobered me up.
“But the alcohol could still be in your system. You don’t want to get stopped by the cops.”
No, definitely not. “I will go to the police.” I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to check on the letter, which I’d zipped in the pocket of the fleece jacket I’d put on over a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Michael leaned on the door out to the garage, watching me load George and his portable water bowl into the car. “Just be careful.”
“I’ll be fine.” I gave him a kiss, pulling quickly out of his embrace, afraid that he’d feel the crunch of the letter in my pocket. As I reversed down the driveway he was still standing in the doorway watching me.
Heather’s house was less than an eight-minute drive from mine, but with lights and traffic it could take as much as fifteen. It seemed hard to believe that it had been only eleven or twelve days since I’d responded to Heather’s call, making this same drive at manic speed, not caring whether the police stopped me. Now I was scared that they might, careful to drive within the speed limit, but just within, keeping the pressure steady on the village streets but flooring the accelerator on stretches where no one was around, taking the turns as tightly as I dared.
Her mailbox was at the end of the long drive up to their estate, an ornate metal box inserted in a stone pillar adjoining the wall. There was no one in sight and I lowered my car window and gave a quick tug to open it. The box was empty. Shutting it just as fast, I turned in to the entrance and made the long drive up to the house. The place looked deserted, my feet tapping loudly on the stone pavers as I walked from my car to the front door.
In the silence I could hear the muffled sound of the doorbell’s complicated peal. George whined softly from the car and a plane droned overhead. I pressed the bell again and, hearing something rustling nearby, turned fast to see a doe come out of the trees bordering the house. It stopped short, clearly as surprised as I was, the two of us staring at each another for a moment. The sound of the lock turning startled the deer and it bounded away into the woods as the door opened. Anna Lysenko stood in the doorway, looking annoyed and very tired.
“Yes?” It seemed as if she’d aged a decade, dark hollows under her sunken eyes, her skin sallow and spotted. It took a second for me to realize that she had no makeup on.
“I’m sorry to bother you—is Heather here?”
“She’s out; I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Past her shoulder I could see a pile of mail sitting on the hall table. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” I stalled, trying to think of how I could get inside.
“She’s taken Viktor’s son to play at his cousin’s. Apparently my grandson had to go there even though he has plenty of toys here to play with.” She sounded resentful.
“It’s just that I was hoping to get my casserole dish back. Heather said it was okay to drop by today to pick it up.” I looked as ingratiating and apologetic as I could.
“Oh she did, did she? On the day of her husband’s funeral?” The older woman stared at me sullenly for a long moment before giving a loud sigh. “Okay, come in, come in before you let out all the heat.” She ushered me inside and closed the door with a click just short of a slam. “You can wait here. What does it look like?”
“What?” My gaze kept sliding to the pile of mail. “Oh, it’s white porcelain, a rectangular pan with fluted edges.”
“I was trying to take a nap,” Anna said in an accusing tone as she walked down the hall toward the kitchen. “I forgot what it’s like having a young child around all hours. It takes a lot of energy.”
“It certainly does.” I waited until she’d disappeared around the corner before quickly sorting through the mail. There were dozens of sympathy cards, plus some bills and junk mail in Viktor’s name. I sifted as quickly as I could and there it was—a white envelope addressed to Heather in a familiar-looking typeface with no return address. I grabbed it, but too fast, spilling the pile of mail onto the floor.
“What did you say it looked like?” Viktor’s mother called from the kitchen.
“White porcelain,” I called back, slipping the letter into my pocket and dropping to my knees to frantically scoop the mail off the marble tile.
“There are over a dozen porcelain dishes,” Mrs. Lysenko said. “What’s wrong with those disposable aluminum pans I’d like to know.” She came around the corner carrying my dish just as I got the mail back onto the table.
“Thank you so much,” I said, giving her that absurd, ingratiating smile as I took the pan from her hands. “Again, I’m so sorry to bother you. Please tell Heather I stopped by.”
Anna made a sound suspiciously like a snort. Aware that she might be watching, I didn’t even touch the letter until I’d driven far away from the house, parking along the side of the road next to a wide, fenced field where a beautiful black horse quietly grazed, nuzzling the snow in search of dry winter grass.
George pressed up against the window, eager to get out and play, and then tried to nuzzle me into action. I pushed him gently away and pulled both envelopes from my pocket, comparing Heather’s with mine, before opening hers and finding a duplicate of the letter that had been sent to me. It didn’t get better with rereads. My hands trembled as I folded each back into its envelope and tried to call Heather. It went straight to voice mail. What if the police were tapping her phone? I struggled to keep my voice light. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing. If you feel up to it, we’d love to see you—we’re meeting for a girls-only walk at the Borough Park at four P.M.”
chapter twenty-four
SARAH
The Sewickley Borough Park is a park in the classic sense of the word, a parcel of wooded land dedicated to riding and hiking trails. There’s a single paved road through it that dead-ends at a clearing with a glass-fronted trail box containing a yellowed copy of the park rules posted next to a topographical map and some parking spots. On warm, sunny days, people park all along the sides of the road and enjoy picnics and sunbathing and it’s a favorite spot where dogs can roam off-leash. I was hoping that the cold and the time of day would keep most of the pet owners away, and not just because I don’t really like dogs. We needed a private place to meet and I was glad that I passed only one car as I drove along the road toward the dead end.
There was one car other than Alison’s in the official parking spaces and I didn’t recognize it. As I pulled in a few spots away, tires skidding on gravel, I heard a dog yipping and saw Alison leaning into the backseat of her car struggling to contain George. The other car was empty. As I got out of mine I could hear Alison saying, “Hold on, settle down,” and she didn’t hear me coming as she practically wrestled with her dog to get his leash on. If she let George off-leash he’d disappear into the woods in pursuit of squirrels. Apparently he had some pointer blood and it was just in his nature. Well, it wasn’t in my nature to chase him through a maze of oak, maple, and birch trees.
“Hi there,” I called in greeting, trying not to startle her, but she jumped anyway, whirling around.
“Oh, hey, I didn’t hear you pull in.” She looked pale and frazzled, her blond hair falling out of the neat bun she’d worn at the funeral. George looked far more enthusiastic, large brown eyes wild and even larger tongue dripping slobber. He bounded forward to jump up on me and I stepped back so his paws hit the air instead of my shoulders. “Down, boy!” Alison yelled, yanking on his leash. “George, down!” The dog partially responded, but he couldn’t stop moving, bobbing and weaving around Alison like a manic boxer, before bolting toward the open field, dr
agging his owner behind him.
I hurried after them, the thermos I’d brought bouncing in the bag hanging from my shoulder. The sun was setting and I shaded my eyes as Alison let George lead us around the snowy clearing. He had his nose down and up, sniffing eagerly at every bench and rock, lifting his leg against the wooden post holding the trail map. I checked my watch; it was just after four P.M. I hoped Julie and Heather would get there soon.
As we walked, I saw a man emerge from one of the trails about a hundred feet away with a German shepherd who was off-leash. The dog tensed as it spotted us, but the man didn’t react, just kept moving forward with the same steady gait along a path parallel to ours but at a distance. He seemed tall, certainly taller than I was, a broad-chested man with dark hair and mirrored sunglasses. His dog diverted, making a beeline for George, while barking like crazy, and the man didn’t say anything, just let him go ahead. I don’t appreciate dog owners who let their animals approach strangers without any attempt to curb them.
“Is he friendly?” Alison called as George, goofy, friendly mutt that he was, practically rolled over in front of the shepherd before some canine pride seemed to kick in and he asserted himself with barking, too. The man didn’t answer, but he changed direction, walking toward his dog. And us.
Alison kept hold of George’s leash, clearly nervous as he and the shepherd engaged in that gross ritual where each dog tries to sniff the other’s rear end. The man stopped a few feet away and stared from the dog to Alison and me and back again.
“Cold out today,” I said, one last stab at friendliness. He made a sound that might have been agreement before addressing the dog in a deep voice. “C’mon, King, let’s go.”
The dog didn’t listen, jumping and growling as he played with George. Alison had let the leash out as far as it would go and George was jerking her arm as he pulled against it, twisting and running around, tail wagging like crazy even while he barked and growled as if he wanted to tear the shepherd apart. I’ll never understand dog behavior. The man was watching; he seemed to be looking us over. “I said let’s go,” he suddenly boomed, making us jump as much as his dog. He reached into a pocket of his jeans and I caught a glint of metal. For a brief, terrible moment I thought he held a gun. I tugged Alison’s arm, stumbling back and pulling her and George back with me, as the man stepped forward and then bent to clip a leash on his dog’s collar.
Just Between Us Page 18
