by Lisa Unger
“That’s it!” said Kate. In her anger, her tone reached an uncharacteristic pitch and volume. All three of them turned to stare at her. “You two—figure out a way to share that thing, or I’m donating it to kids who have nothing.”
Brendan and Chelsea watched her gape-jawed as she proceeded to slam the rest of the dishes into the dishwasher. It was not yet six A.M., the golden morning light dappling the floor. Sean moved to Kate and put his hands on her slender shoulders, which were tight and hiked up high.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. He felt her take a deep breath; her shoulders released a bit beneath his touch. “Sorry for yelling. But I meant it.”
“Okay,” said Chelsea. She sank onto one of the kitchen chairs, kept a watchful, worried stare on her mother. Chelsea was usually the one to relent, the one eager to keep the peace. Sean thought maybe it had to do with the battles between Kate and Sebastian, the classic behavior of a child caught in conflict. Brendan, on the other hand, had never had to mediate or to please warring personalities. “You can keep it.”
Brendan was as sore a winner as he was a loser. He took the iPad from his sister and stormed, as best he could with his terrible limp, from the room. Chelsea followed him out, casting a quick glance behind at her mother.
“Everyone’s stressed,” said Kate when they were gone. She brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed.
“They’ll get over it,” he said. “We’ll get over it. This time tomorrow, all of this will be forgotten, and we’ll be relaxing at the island.”
“Right,” said Kate. “It’s going to be so relaxing.”
“Look,” he said. “Why don’t you just wait? We’ll all go tomorrow.”
He knew before the words were out of his mouth that it would never fly. He could already see the etching of worry in her brow. God forbid she should disappoint her parents, make them wait for anything they wanted. They’d all be subject to the famous full-throttle Birdie meltdown.
“No,” she said. “The car is packed. We’re ready. I hate to leave him, but it’s better for him to have another day to rest.”
“Okay,” he said. “It’s all going to be fine.”
She melted into him. “Is it?”
“Of course.” He squeezed her tight. “Of course.”
The first time they met had been in this very house. It was empty then; the owners had moved out west. Realtors didn’t do much staging in those days, setting up rented furniture so that people could envision how the houses would look when they moved in. The walls needed painting. The floors were older. But it was a nice house in a good neighborhood. In the market as it was then, it would sell no matter how much work it needed.
Sean’s assistant had made the appointment, and Sean was waiting on the porch when Kate and Chelsea pulled up. He saw Kate first as she stepped out of her old but well-maintained Mercedes, having pulled up alongside his brand-new Porsche Spyder. She wasn’t his type. She was sweet-looking, with wheat-blond hair and a cute body. She wore a flowered dress over leggings, a denim jacket. Cute, nice, the kind of girl his mother would like. But he wasn’t into cute. The redhead he was dating at the time was rocking his world; she was a five-foot-ten lingerie model with a real kinky streak. Honestly, he could think of little else.
Then he saw Chelsea in the car seat in the back. She was pouting, clutching a stuffed dog. There was some negotiation at the car door.
“Just one more,” he heard Kate say. “Then we’ll go for ice cream.”
He remembered thinking that was the problem with modern parents, always bribing and negotiating. No one had negotiated with him when he was a kid. He just did what he was told or he got his ass kicked.
But as they approached, something happened. Kate smiled and shook his hand, but she didn’t really look at him. Chelsea scowled at him, apparently unimpressed by his bright and, he thought, charming “Hi, there, princess.” That guy, the one he was then, was such a clueless jerk. And Chelsea, not yet four, could see it clearly.
There was something about them. Even now he couldn’t say what. It was in the way Chelsea held Kate’s hand, leaned her body against Kate’s leg. It was in the way they whispered to each other, walking slowly from room to room. That’s a nice big closet, Kate said. All my toys could go there, answered Chelsea practically. You’d have fun in that tub, said Kate. Oh, yes, Chelsea said. I would.
“My daddy isn’t going to live here,” Chelsea told him in the kitchen. “It’s just me and Mommy now.”
“Oh,” said Sean.
“I’m sorry,” said Kate. She smiled at his awkwardness.
“It happens sometimes,” said Chelsea. She put up a hand, ready to explain. “Sometimes grown-ups don’t want to live together anymore.”
“That’s true,” Sean said.
When he looked back at Kate, she seemed to be studying him in a way he was not used to. It was as if she were trying to figure out the exact nature of his character.
“Do you have kids?” she asked him.
“No,” he said. “Not even close. Someday, though, I hope. And I hope they’re as cute and smart as this little girl.” He added that last part to be connective; it was a sales trick. Relate. Relate. Relate. Chelsea’s frown was back. Kate gave him a slow nod. There was that smile again, amused, understanding. A little condescending? She thought she was smarter than he was. Maybe she was.
“I like this house,” she said. She put her hands on the granite countertop (the very same one they were leaning on now). “It’s the nicest thing I’ve seen in a week. It feels … safe.”
He’d wondered what she meant by that. She hadn’t meant the neighborhood or the new security system. She meant something else, something bigger. And it was a nice house, though he hadn’t thought much of it until he saw Kate in it. It wasn’t big and flashy, like some of the other houses he’d recently sold in this wealthy New Jersey suburb. But it had good bones. It was solidly built, unlike the new McMansions that looked stunning but had paper-thin walls, fixtures and baseboards that started to pop out after a year or so. It was a real house. With a little love, someone could turn it into a home.
“Make an offer,” he said. “The sellers are very motivated.”
He always said that. But in this case, it was true. She did make an offer, a good one. She didn’t lowball. She’d done her research and knew what the house was worth. Later that afternoon, the seller happily accepted. There was none of the usual back-and-forth. He knew before they’d all left the house and gone their separate ways that the place belonged to Chelsea and Kate. It was like that with people and houses. When it came to real estate, he believed in love at first sight.
That night he’d had drinks with the redhead—he couldn’t even remember her name now. It was the name of a month, he remembered that: April, May, June? He found himself distracted, elsewhere, during that date, which he’d been anticipating with a voracious appetite all week. That night, and every night after that, he was thinking about Kate.
“Just promise me one thing,” she said now. Looking out the window, Sean saw an enormous Escalade drift into the driveway.
“Anything,” he said.
“Just don’t drive if you’re tired or if things run late. Wait until morning.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. Between the two of them, they’d probably said that ten times.
“Just promise.”
“I promise,” he said.
The slamming car door rang out in the quiet morning. The kids rambled down the stairs, making, it seemed, as much noise as humanly possible. Then the doorbell was ringing, and Chelsea and Lulu were carrying their huge, overstuffed baggage out to the car. Lulu’s mother waved but didn’t get out of her car; she rarely did. She was already talking on the phone, smiling but distracted.
Sean felt a wave of sadness that he couldn’t explain as her car pulled away. She’s missing out, Sean thought. But then his own phone was beeping with a text from his partner, Jane, another early bird with a big day ahead of her. A
nd the next thing he knew, he was sending her a text while hauling Kate’s bag to the car. Kate was saying something to him that he didn’t quite get.
“What was that, babe?”
And then the girls were all in the car, Kate futzing with the navigation computer, the girls giggling and chatting. Then he was giving hugs and kisses goodbye: I love you. No arguing with your mother. Keep your seat belt on. Read a book, for crying out loud. Don’t just fry your brain with those machines.
“Why do I have to stay?” Brendan was saying, holding on to Kate.
“I just need you to rest today, get that ankle iced and feeling better,” said Kate, running her hands through his wild curls. “You can drive up with your dad, keep him company.”
Sean could hear the uncertainty and concern in her voice. He was sure Brendan could, too. Kids had a knack for that, knowing where you were soft. He clung to Kate a minute longer, then limped off to the stoop.
With Brendan pouting by the door, the girls laughing at something on Lulu’s iPad (iPad problem solved—of course Lulu had one), Sean leaned into Kate’s window.
His wife had a way of giving him her complete attention, making him feel like the only guy in the world, even with everything in chaos around them. She was the only person he knew who wasn’t constantly diverting her attention to a screen. She had a cell phone but rarely used it. She hated to text.
In his reflection in the mirror that morning, Sean had thought he looked more tired and stressed than he felt. But Kate always gazed at him as though he were man of the year.
“You’re a killer,” she said. He felt that smile of hers. “You’re going to rock that open house.”
Right then, at that moment, he almost threw it all in. He could turn the listing over to Jane, make her the senior broker, and assist her when he returned. He could grab his and Brendan’s suitcases and pile into the car with the girls. They’d be on their way to a place they didn’t necessarily want to go. The kids would fight the whole time. They’d eat junk food. But at least they’d be together.
He didn’t do that. For a hundred reasons that all meshed together and were indistinguishable from one another: He’d felt like a failure at work for a year. He wanted to make his own money and not rely on Kate’s trust. He didn’t want to go to the island and face Joe—Mr. Success, Man of the House—feeling like he had this year. He wanted to go with a success under his belt. He hadn’t even realized it had been eating at him until the listing came up.
Kate must have seen it all play out on his face. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek.
“Don’t worry,” she said again. He loved her pale skin, the pink blush of her lips, the icy blond of her hair. “This is good. Maybe this is a trip I need to make alone right now.”
It was true. She had a lot to face on the island, a lot to share with her parents. He wanted to be there with her, and he would be. But maybe she needed a little time there on her own as well.
He gave her a last kiss and then went to stand by Brendan. Sean dropped an arm around his son’s shoulders, and they watched Kate pull away. The SUV made a turn at the end of the road; with a honk, and three hands waving out windows, they were gone.
“This sucks,” said Brendan. He bowed his curly head and lifted his swollen ankle to regard it resentfully. Sean agreed wholeheartedly but caught himself before saying so.
chapter fifteen
When Emily awoke in a dim, milky light, there were a few seconds when she didn’t know where she was. In those moments, her life was a blank. She could have been in her own bed. The day might have stretched ahead of her—having a nice hot shower, making breakfast, getting ready for work. But slowly, reality crept back in, and the weight of everything that had happened, everything they had done, put a terrible crush on her heart. Oh, God, she thought for the hundredth time, oh, no.
She was alone in a grimy motel room. Where were they? They’d driven north; she remembered that much. Dean had given her something, a pill she’d happily taken, not even knowing what it was, even though a day ago she never would have done that. She didn’t care what happened to her now. And sleep had come for her, thrown itself over her like a black cloak.
She vaguely recalled Dean carrying her from the car, and feeling that she was unable to rouse herself. Even now she felt artificially groggy, her limbs so heavy, her thinking dull. Had Dean left her here? She almost didn’t dare to hope. What would she do then? She’d go back, turn herself in, and accept her punishment. She’d try somehow to make amends. She tried not to think about the restaurant, the blood-soaked floor. But the image was seared in her mind’s eye. She wondered if she’d ever think about anything else again.
She wrapped her arms around her belly, curled into a ball. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
The door opened then. She glimpsed Brad’s tall, hulking shadow before she clamped her eyes closed and pretended she was sleeping. She felt her heart start to pump when the door closed with a click. Where was Dean?
She could hear Brad breathing, standing at the foot of her bed. The sound of his breath mingled with the whispering rush of cars speeding on a highway. It sounded like the ocean, which Emily had not seen since she was a teenager. Somewhere outside, she heard a television, a door slam. Her whole body tingled with tension. She wondered if he could see her shaking.
“I know you’re awake,” he said.
She tried to hold herself as motionless as possible.
“You have to get up. We can’t stay here much longer.”
His voice sounded different, more gentle. She opened her eyes. He looked cleaner; he’d showered. But he had that vacant look to him, the one that so unnerved her. He was wearing other clothes than he’d been wearing last night. It looked like a shirt that belonged to Dean. She remembered that they’d stopped back by her house. She remembered wailing on the bed while Dean shoved their clothes into a duffel bag. Em, be quiet. Be quiet, please.
“Where’s Dean?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice flat. She wouldn’t show him her fear.
“He went to get supplies and gas up the car.” He leaned against the wall as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Better we’re not seen together. The police know there were three.”
The police. They were on the run from the police. It was so far outside of what she had ever hoped for, ever expected of her life, that it didn’t seem quite real.
“They don’t know who we are?” she said.
“Not yet.” He ran a hand through his hair, was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read.
“They’re dead?” The word was heavy on her tongue. She sensed a falling feeling inside, a horrible emptiness.
“The kid’s dead,” he said, no emotion, not even fear. “The woman is in a coma.”
She let it sink in, the knowledge that Angelo was dead because of something that she’d done. She thought of the gold cross around his neck, the goofy smile he always wore for her. Carol was fighting for her life. Emily thought about poor Paul, how sad and scared he must be.
“It’s on the news?” she asked. “That’s how you know?”
She tried to imagine her mother seeing it on television. Would she remember that was where Emily worked? Would she try to call? Emily would give anything to call her mother right now. Even a verbal lashing would be better than this feeling of free fall.
“How else would I know?”
She didn’t answer him, just closed her eyes. He climbed onto the bed, keeping his eyes on her. How could Dean have left her alone with this monster? Dean knew what he was, and still he left her to him.
He lay the full length of his body alongside hers, and began to draw a finger up and down her arm. She stayed perfectly still. Never run from a junkyard dog. She could smell him—soap and cigarettes.
“Please leave me alone,” she said.
Brad laughed, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “You’re funny,” he said. “But the good-girl routine is getting old.”
&
nbsp; She sat up and pulled her legs in, burying her head in her arms. She didn’t want to hear him talking.
“You were with us every step of the way on this,” he said. “You unlatched that door. I honestly didn’t think you would. But you did.”
It was more than he’d said to her since he walked into her living room yesterday. She wouldn’t have imagined him to be able to string as many sentences together.
“Fuck you,” she said, looking up. “Fuck. You.”
He grabbed her hair hard, and her hands flew to his. He brought his face in close to hers. There was a deep red scar on his cheek beneath the stubble. His eyes were red around the rims.
“You’re every bit as rotten at the core as we are,” he said into her ear. His breath was hot on her neck, the stubble on his jaw like sandpaper against her skin. “You just can’t admit it to yourself.”
“Let go of me,” she hissed. Then louder, “Let go of me!”
He was straddling her suddenly, sitting heavy on her thighs, holding her arms down. He must have outweighed her by a hundred pounds, was so strong that she could barely move. Rage, fear, shame shot through her in one pulse, then left her weak and sick to her stomach.
“Let me go,” she said again. Her voice was just a whisper, like in those dreams where she wanted to scream and strike out but couldn’t. He leaned down and pressed his mouth hard against hers. She felt his teeth, his hot tongue. It wasn’t a kiss but some kind of ugly, violent hunger. He grunted like a rooting animal, burying his mouth against her neck. Emily started to thrash and sob. When he tried to put his mouth on hers again, in an unthinking moment of struggle, she bit down hard on his lip. He roared in pain, railing back. She tasted his blood in her mouth.
“You crazy bitch,” he said, more amused than angry. He smacked her hard once across the face.
She let out a wailing scream, made a futile effort to push him off of her, just as Dean walked in. He paused in the doorway for a second, then dove for Brad. Dean was smaller, lighter, but his fury turned him berserk. He started pounding at the back of Brad’s head, and the two men fell off the bed as Emily rolled away from them. Dean wound up on top of Brad and started pummeling, panicked and merciless, at the other man’s face until Emily pulled him away.
