“You heard me. If you know so much about me and my family, and about what did or didn’t happen that night, where were you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I could ask you the same about this entire conversation.”
He laughed, hard enough for his whole body to shake heartily, and slapped Daniel on the shoulder. “Lighten up, Perkins. I think you misunderstand me. I’m trying to help.”
Daniel fixed his stare out the window, struggling to contain his mounting rage.
“If I figured it out, don’t you think the police will, too?” Toby asked. “I mean, don’t they always verify where the husband was if something bad happens at home?” Daniel shook his head. He’d told himself they had no reason to. I hope she’s a real looker, Toby had said. Worth the risk. It wasn’t like that—that simple, that base. But it was also never going to happen again. The idea of having to explain …
“I have connections through our booking agent,” Toby went on. “I can make sure that they’ll confirm, no matter who asks, that on the night in question, you checked into a hotel room in—wherever you said you were.” He smiled. “Backdated itinerary, too, if you need it. Like I said, I’m trying to help.”
They were interrupted by another announcement, this time some requisite who-cares tidbits about their projected trajectory and cruising altitude, and that beverage service would begin shortly, with a cash bar available. When it was over, the compartment seemed full with the sounds of the engines, the propellers, the wind.
“I mean, forget the cops,” Toby said, his voice thoughtful. “If Molly were to find out that you were fritting around when she was going through such a terrifying ordeal? That you were maybe even in town? If she’s like most women I know, she’d blow a gasket over how you could have been there for her. I mean, hell, she might have a point. Maybe if you’d been there, the whole incident wouldn’t have happened at all.”
Daniel turned on him, dumbfounded and furious, but before he could unclench his teeth to reply, Toby laughed again, right in his face this time.
“Just imagine. Even if the police have dropped this—what if someone were to tip them off? If they started investigating you, why you lied…” His voice was low, but not low enough to veil the threat, and Daniel sank into his seat, the plane’s cramped interior closing in around him.
“What are you getting at, Toby?” A man with no moral compass could swivel on a dime, with nothing to pull him back to north, meaning Toby would always be one turn ahead of him. Might as well get this over with. “What is it you want?”
“Well, it seems we both know—or think we know—something undesirable about the other,” Toby said. “Silence seems a fair trade. At least for starters.”
“You have me wrong,” Daniel whispered. “I’m not like you. We aren’t even on the same playing field.”
“Aren’t we? Don’t forget I see all the paperwork that comes through—the job openings posted, filled or retracted, the promotions, the salaries. I know exactly how you manipulated your position, at the expense of what was best for the company—and its employees. You made it very easy for someone to take advantage.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Greedy as you were, I think it’s a little hypocritical for you to begrudge someone else a modest salary increase. You know how tight they are at the top. Guys like us, we have to get creative.”
Daniel cursed himself. He should have decided on his next move more quickly, long before he’d been stupid enough to get on this plane—to do as he was told without even knowing why, just like every other bonobo in a suit.
“There is no guys like us,” he growled.
Toby shrugged. “If I were like you, I’d be carrying around some guilt right now. Over a lot of things. Might be nice to know my secrets were safe, if I were like you.” He leaned closer. “Might be nice to know my family was safe.”
Daniel’s throat went dry.
“From your secrets, I mean.” Toby grinned. “Tell you what,” he said as the drink cart came into view. “Bloody Marys are on me.” Daniel opened his mouth to decline, but something in Toby’s eyes stopped him.
“It’s like I told you, Perkins. It’s the damnedest thing. You land at the same time you took off. It’s like the hour in the sky never happened at all.”
15
Rosie and Nori ran ahead to the split in the trail—more of a sideways T than a fork—and looked expectantly back at Molly and Rick. The kids knew the drill by now, that any place with options could be the destination for the day’s “brave talking,” and Molly smiled and nodded, resisting the urge to quicken her step to catch up. It was best not to make too big a deal of these decision points, though everyone knew them to be the reason for the outings in the first place.
Rick had broken their silence this morning with a text message inviting them to meet after Nori’s preschool let out and, after much deliberation and many half-typed, never-sent alternate responses, Molly consented. She had no real excuse not to, as Daniel was away for work again and Grant was staying after school for the “running club” of kids training for the 5K—something Molly was holding out hope he’d discover he didn’t enjoy after all. Convincing herself that she might still have an out—that she’d gauge how Grant’s enthusiasm weathered the next couple weeks—was the only thing staving her panic at what she’d agreed to. Best to keep her mind on something else, and it might as well be Rosie. Molly wasn’t sure she was ready to be here with Rick yet, but she understood consistency was important for the girl. She knew about forward momentum, about how things could grind to a halt if you let it falter.
She knew about pushing, about being pushed.
Rick dropped back as she approached the girls. Nothing at these junctures could come from him, and just as well. Molly didn’t have to think much about what to say to him, how to act, whether they could—or should—return to the way things had been. These excursions weren’t about them.
Or at least that’s what she’d been telling herself all along.
“How about you pick what’s next for us today, little Miss Rosie,” she said lightly. “If we keep going straight, we can visit the pretty fountain outside Krippendorf Lodge.” She jangled her pocket. “I’ve brought pennies to throw in.”
Nori bounced on her tiptoes, and her coiled pigtails transformed into little brunette springs. “We could make wishes, Rosie!” she whispered.
Molly nodded. “Or, if we go left, we can make our wishes in the fairy garden by the herb wall. Have you seen that before?” Rosie shook her head, her lips pressed together tightly. Molly always started feeling nervous at this point—about how much coaxing might be required and whether she was doing it right. “Well, they’ve just come out of their winter’s hibernation. There are tiny doorways. Tiny houses. Some you can find right away, but some you have to look for. Like the forest’s little secrets.”
She smiled and fell into what she hoped was the kind of silence that would invite the girl to respond. Early on, Rosie had tried the same work-arounds that had thwarted her dad’s efforts at home—pointing, leading them by the hand in the direction she wanted to go—but the rest of the group stood their ground, literally, until Rosie learned that responding verbally was the only way to get results. Molly had gambled when she’d conceived of these outings that the temptation would be strong, and she’d been more or less right. Nature called to everyone, especially children, and they’d been making slow, steady progress with the ritual.
The key was to be nonchalant about the waiting. Quiet was relative here, which helped things feel less stilted. A mishmash of gravel and dead leaves scuffled beneath Nori’s fidgeting feet; birdsong harmonized around them. A gust of wind rustled the young leaves above, and Rick tipped his head back to look up—anywhere but at Rosie. And just like that, a question burned in the girl’s eyes, eager to be set free.
Go ahead, Molly willed her silently. Ask it. Ask if the fairies are real. Ask who put them there. Ask me anything at all. You can do it. You know
us—we’re your friends. Usually the best they could hope for was a clipped, timid response, a polite fountain or fairies with perhaps a please or a maybe tacked on. But the words had been coming more readily, with less delay.
Ironically, given that Molly had come to specialize in failure with her own healing attempts, Rick was more surprised at Rosie’s progress than Molly was. With this, he was the one at wit’s end and she objective and fresh eyed—a welcome switch. Her faith in the nature center was her one faith that remained unshaken; though physical relief eluded her, the invisible forces that had drawn her here kept pulling. She’d seen the good work done with the small groups bussed in from special education centers. She’d shared the reclaimed joy of the retirees newly freed from cubicle walls. Rosie was starting from such a young, innocent place—she’d experienced a terrible loss, but she had a wonderful father, and Molly felt confident she was going to be okay, one way or the other.
That made one of them.
Molly’s strategy focused on points of interest on the grounds—the options were plenty, as the place had begun as a private estate, full of historical landmarks, and grown outward. Miles of hiking trails wrapped around outbuildings and overlooks, a lake, ponds, boardwalks, bridges, the children’s area, and of course the visitor center, the preschool, and the more isolated buildings for research and study. Early in her time here, she’d made it a point to come to know these trails as if they were her own—there was satisfaction in feeling at home somewhere that was so outside of her, that belonged to everyone—and the prospect of putting her expertise to good and selfless use had inspired an optimism she’d feared she was no longer capable of.
“If it works,” Rick had cautioned her, “we can’t make it a big deal. No cheering. Her therapist says it’ll just add pressure for next time.”
“So how do we act?”
“We’re supposed to use something called ‘labeled praise.’ Not, ‘good job,’ but ‘I love how you told us which way you wanted to go.’”
Simple enough. Molly could have used a little labeled praise herself. I liked how you gave acupuncture a try even though you have always been terrified by needles. Or, I liked how you did your physical therapy exercises three times yesterday instead of the required two, even though the thought of more leg lifts made you want to scream.
It turned out to be hard not to cheer for Rosie’s progress. The first two outings had indeed left them retreating to the parking lot in defeat when no decision was made. But the disappointment of leaving the riches of the forest unseen had gotten the best of the little girl.
“Frog pond,” she’d whispered on the third day, with little prompting. She’d been psyching herself up even before Rick had brought her, Molly could tell.
Now Rosie leaned closer, and Molly crouched to her level.
She said something so softly that Molly couldn’t make it out. She detected a long “oh.” Go? Show?
“Sorry, Rosie, I didn’t hear you. Can you say it again?”
The little girl cleared her throat. “Can we do both?” she said, clear as the sky, and Molly’s hands shot triumphantly in the air before she caught herself and clasped them behind her. “We sure can,” she said, soundlessly applauding in the air behind her back, where only Rick could see. “Where to first?”
Rosie looked to Nori, and Molly tried to catch her daughter’s eye, to shake her head that she shouldn’t answer for her friend, but Nori was bouncing again, too excited to stick to the rules. “Pennies?” she squealed, and Rosie nodded eagerly. Nori took her by the hand. “I bet we can get there in twenty steps. Want to count?” Rosie nodded again, and the two began marching ahead, “One, two, three…” Molly heard only Nori’s voice but dared to hope Rosie was whispering along.
“Sorry,” Molly said, turning to Rick. She hadn’t delivered the labeled praise, which was supposed to happen right away. “I wanted to see if she’d answer twice. She’s having a good day.”
“Sorry?” He laughed. “For what? It isn’t a ‘good day’—it’s the best one yet!” He scooped her into a bear hug and swung her in a circle, the branches whirling around them, and she stiffened, swallowing a gasp of surprise. They should be keeping boundaries, especially after … but he was letting go, doing a goofy dance, letting out a whoop now that Rosie was too far ahead to hear, and Molly couldn’t help but laugh. Who could blame him for being excited, for forgetting himself? The child was all he had left of his wife.
“We should catch up,” Molly said, starting down the path, putting a few steps of distance between them. “Before they wind up in the fountain.”
But he crossed the distance easily, falling into step beside her. “Hold back some pennies for us,” he said. “Your progress with her has given me something more to wish for.”
She allowed herself a glance sideways, and he was looking at her with gratitude, admiration, and … something else. Had he always looked at her this way, or was it new, an overcorrection after their rift? She felt herself blushing and returned her eyes to the path ahead.
“She’s given it to you, not me,” she said.
“I don’t know where we’d be without you and Nori. You two have made a world of difference.”
That’s when Molly realized. It didn’t matter what he meant by it. It mattered that right up until the night she thought he’d stepped across the line, she’d have glowed to hear him say those words. She’d have hung her whole day’s happiness on them. And she wouldn’t have let herself think about what that might be a sign of or what it could lead to.
The last time they had Rosie at one of these brave-talking crossroads, Rosie’s eventual whispered response wasn’t—if Molly was being honest—what had made the excursion worth the trouble. The reward had been in the way Rick beamed at her.
When had things started to change between them, and how had she not seen? Had the protective coating she’d built up around her pain made her so fireproof, she’d been impervious to the danger of what she’d been playing with? Her own false accusation seemed to have stripped off the protective gear and left her standing shockingly close to the flame.
Even on days when she’d feared Daniel might leave her, even on days when she’d wondered if he already had, and even on days when she worried she might actually want him to, Molly had never sympathized with anyone’s temptation toward adultery. Not okay, no way, never her. Only now did she have the good sense to feel scalded by the self-deception that had carried her this far. She’d told herself she’d merely been distracting herself from her own problems, taking vicarious joy in the kind of progress that eluded her. She’d reminded herself the fear of getting caught for her other transgressions—the financial ones—was already more than she could handle.
“How did you know this would work?” He shook his head. “You seemed so sure, from the start.”
His tone was intimate. Too intimate? It’s just a conversation, she told herself. No different from all the others you’ve had over the course of your friendship.
Friendship. That’s all.
“I don’t know if Rosie experiences actual fear when it comes to talking, but I do. Not about talking, I mean, but about everything else. Fear the pain will get worse, fear I won’t be able to stop it, fear that it’s defining me in ways I don’t want it to.” Fear I’ve committed to a race I can’t run. Fear I’ve let things fall apart irreparably—with Liza, with Daniel. Fear I’ve stepped into something with you I never intended. Fear the intruder was not random. Fear my mistakes have caught up with us all. “Out here is the one place fear doesn’t seem to follow me.”
He paused, considering. “Explain.”
She shrugged. “I can’t. I never hiked alone much before I started working here, but now I’ll spend my lunch breaks off in the woods, and it’s occurred to me that maybe I should be afraid. Especially with my issues, there are plenty of ways I could hurt myself pretty easily. Loose boards on the footbridges, slippery rocks on the creek—even as crowded as this place gets, there are plenty
of spots you could go down and not have anyone come along for an hour or two.” She caught sight of a thin silver snake winding through the undergrowth to their left and gestured to it. “Also, much as I love nature, I don’t love those.”
“But you’re not afraid out here.”
“It’s the least afraid I feel in a day. It’s the most at peace.”
He brushed her arm, so gently she might’ve missed it had it not sent a jolt directly to the longing center of her brain. “Well, that just makes me sad that you’re afraid the rest of the time.”
He was such an uncommonly good listener, was the thing.
Peals of delight came from up ahead—louder than Nori alone could muster—and Molly smiled at the thought of Rosie joining in when no one was watching. Rick caught her grin and returned it. “Why don’t you and the kids come by for dinner? It must be unnerving having Daniel gone again so soon after…” He cleared his throat. “It’s nice weather, and it seems like a waste to fire up the grill just for me and Rosie.”
She wanted to say yes.
Which meant she had to say no.
* * *
If Nori hadn’t thrown a tantrum the second Rick and Rosie pulled away—screaming “I want to go to Rosie’s house!” and hurling a fistful of leftover pennies across the parking lot—Molly might have made it to her car.
As it was, she was crab walking across the spot Rick’s SUV had vacated, picking up the copper coins while her daughter stomped and sobbed, when she heard her name.
“Molly Perkins?”
The man seemed to be trying too hard not to look out of place. He was wearing a stiff, clean Panama hat and a short-sleeved khaki button-down still creased from the package. With one hand he grasped a thick walking stick too large to be more help than hindrance, and with the other he caressed a pair of binoculars that hung from his neck. He was older than her by a couple of decades, and carried his short stature with a formality that might have been charming if something about him didn’t instantly strike her as off.
Forget You Know Me Page 14
