“I don’t feel like myself,” she admitted. “I kind of miss her.”
He sat up straighter. “Yourself is right here,” he promised her. “I was missing her, too, back home, and now I’m not, so she must be.” Tears pricked her eyes, and before she could hide them he reached across the table and tapped his finger on the top of her hand. “Cut her some slack,” he said. “She’s dealing with a lot right now. And she might have gotten some bad advice, about subjecting herself to Molly’s bullshit. My bad.”
Oh, Max. It would have been better for him, too, if she’d been brave enough to back away months or even years ago, rather than clinging to him even as she told herself that she was not. She met his eye. “No, you were right. I have so much dread hanging over me right now, it’s better that we got that much over with. And—even though I can’t see a way past things with her right now, I don’t know … Maybe she and I are the same amount of messed up.”
His hand covered hers solemnly. “Don’t ever say that again,” he said, his eyes wide with alarm, and she began to giggle, the laugh escaping her in a flood that swept him up, too, until they were both wiping away tears with the backs of their hands, gasping for air.
“What would I do without you?” she asked, rubbing at her cheeks. She’d been smiling so big they hurt, and she realized how out of practice they must be.
“We’re never going to find out,” he said, with so much conviction she could almost feel the tiny crack appear in her heart. She already knew how easy it would be, with the miles between them, to grow apart.
22
Molly loved it here at Krippendorf Lodge when no one else was around, when the only sound was the trickle of water in the fountain—no children tossing coins in today—and the wind whipping the leaves overhead into a frenzy. A hike seemed risky on a day like this, when branches could easily dislodge and fall, but she’d felt a longing to be out here someway, and so here she was, stretched on the steps at the end of the wraparound porch, gazing into the forest.
The trees, she’d learned just hours ago, were communicating. Right now. Always. This morning’s naturalist program discussed the phenomenon, and she’d come here in the manner of a gumshoe who has to see something for herself once a crucial piece of new information has been revealed.
She didn’t usually hear the programs—only snippets of fascinated chatter afterward, when attendees wandered over for coffee or a souvenir—but today she’d been in her boss’s office, waiting for him to brief her on the aviary that would be setting up an exhibit in front of the nature shop. His box of a room was around the corner from the auditorium, and when he was delayed by a complaint at the membership desk she overheard most of the presentation through the open door. By the time he finally materialized, it took restraint not to shush him. What she’d really wanted was to slip into a vacant seat in the back row and return only after all her questions had been answered.
Because she did have questions, all of a sudden. Lots of them. Things she should have asked before. Things she hadn’t allowed herself to consider until the possibilities had been pointed out to her.
The forest led a secret life as a network—everything interconnected in ways so complex no one fully understood them. No tree in a well-populated habitat stood alone. What appeared to be independent organisms stretching into the sky were in actuality part of an intensely interdependent system not just of communication but also of life itself. Underground, through the roots, through the soil that nourished and held them all fast, they were all in this together. Talking, sharing. They even helped one another when they were sick.
People would say the word with a snarl, like it was a bad thing, pathetic: codependent. It conjured sitcom-esque clichés of a woman without a mind of her own, a man without a spine. Interdependence sounded nicer, was nicer. Ecologists had found, to their amazement, that it was the buzzing, thriving, flowing network beneath the surface that made all its parts resilient.
In all the hours Molly had spent wandering the forest, she’d never known this. And yet now that she did, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d intuited its power, longed to be pulled into its network so she’d no longer have to stand and fight alone.
Certainly she’d wished people worked that way. She’d longed to belong among the other moms, the ones who could get through a stroller-fit class without tears of frustration, who could speak fondly of their husbands without feeling like frauds, who concerned themselves too much with their children and not at all with themselves. Even her counterparts at therapeutic yoga classes seemed to be on this other plane she couldn’t reach, where they were fully immersed in something that for her was a hesitant test run.
If she were a tree, she’d be one that had never rooted well on its own. That had first leaned toward the sunshine surrounding Liza and then grown into the comfortable, soft shade of Daniel’s until, somehow, she’d found herself outside the network, and those poorly planted roots had weakened and begun to rot. The ecologist said that many individual problems could be traced to a breakdown in “cooperative two-way communication.” She couldn’t stop thinking about it: how effort from one side would never be enough. It took two fully invested, engaged individuals to sustain a bond.
Everything is connected, the naturalist assured them, even if it doesn’t look like it.
She’d never proven this to be true in the time she’d spent pining for things that never took hold of her. But it hadn’t occurred to her, until now, to look for connections she didn’t want.
She thought of the way Daniel had come back from Chicago, his easy shade turned darker and colder, and how she’d convinced herself she didn’t want to know why.
She thought of watching him through the window, after she’d spotted Toby walking by, panning the street like a bull looking for a waving red flag to charge.
And she thought of the intruder. After discarding her initial theory as to his identity—once she’d decided Rick must be telling the truth—she’d considered few others. The hope that it had been random. The nagging worry that the man with the walking stick had been speaking figuratively with his perhaps you didn’t get the message? comment.
But now things were coming to a head. Her request to work extra shifts went nowhere. Evidently, there was no shortage of part-timers looking to boost their paychecks; she could get in line, but it was long. In the meantime, she’d made a measly couple hundred dollars reselling the herbal supplements she’d given up on. There were people in her predicament desperate enough to trust a stranger on the internet to send them an open bottle of pills—to gamble that the contents matched the label—and she knew where to find them: under-the-radar message boards, far from the better-policed marketplaces. Undiscerning customers, however, demanded a can’t-pass-it-up price; she took a steep loss and no satisfaction in making this week’s payment. The next one would be due so very soon.
If only there were some way to unload her unused prescriptions. But the last thing she needed was to get involved with anyone else unscrupulous.
For people who were so eager for her to pay up, these lenders were not easy to reach. Calls went through an answering service where messages were returned from “unknown” numbers. Her requests to be put through to a supervisor were dismissed as “not possible.” When she inquired about renegotiating the terms of her loan, the “customer service” rep actually laughed.
She grew more uneasy, less certain the attorney’s warning had been overblown. Putting her savings at risk was one thing, but this was something else. She was haunted by the unaddressed matter of collateral—half-expecting to wake up one day to a boot on her car or a stranger on her lawn. Breaking down and telling Daniel was looking more and more like the inevitable next step.
But what if the lenders were harmless? She had made her latest payment, after all. She’d bought time, if nothing else. What if there was another viable theory as to the intruder’s identity—one she had overlooked?
Before she sacrificed everything to pay off h
er debts, she had to be sure she wasn’t addressing the wrong source of her biggest fear. That it wasn’t connected to a different part of the forest, underground, where no one could see.
Where no one would think to look.
* * *
What would she do if Daniel saw her here? Or if he caught wind of it from someone who recognized her from the annual holiday party she always seemed to be, to her chagrin, feeling well enough to attend? The chart in the lobby indicated that Human Resources was on the first floor, so at least she wouldn’t have to risk the close quarters of the elevator. She’d hope for the best with no real way to plan for the worst. What else was new.
The receptionist had stepped away, and the phone on her desk was ringing. Molly strode past it with what she hoped looked like confidence and started reading placards outside office doors. It didn’t take long to find Toby’s—he was supposed to be accessible, after all. His door was open, and inside he was smiling so intently at his computer screen that whatever was on it couldn’t possibly pertain to work. She knocked on the doorway and watched as he took a second to place her.
“Mrs. Perkins?”
She nodded. “Molly.”
“Molly. Daniel’s office is up on Four. Would you like me to have someone escort you?”
“I’m here to see you, actually. I—” She took a deep breath. Was she really doing this? “I have some questions about our medical benefits. About the family plan.”
“Oh, well. It’s, uh—” His eyes flitted past her to the deserted hallway, then back. “It’s unorthodox for us to work with spouses, but I’m sure we can answer your questions. Why don’t you write them down for Daniel, and if he can’t find the answers in the materials we’ve distributed, I’d be happy to meet with him.”
She crossed to one of his guest chairs and slid in, clutching her purse in her lap. “You know those privacy policies they make you sign at the doctor now? Giving permission for who can access your health information?” He nodded. Though she spoke quietly, he had the look of someone who was being embarrassed in public by a tantrum-prone child or a day-drunk companion. “Well, I’m hoping there’s an equivalent where Human Resources is concerned. I realize I’m not an employee, but I am covered by your plan, and I’d rather not relay these particular questions to my husband, as they allude to medical information I’d rather he not know. Do you have a similar policy that requires you to keep this conversation private?”
“Uh…” His eyes were on the empty hallway again, where the ringing phone persisted from the lobby. “Well, I suppose just because it’s unorthodox doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. Let me see if someone is available—” He made a move to stand, but she shook her head, quickly.
“I’d really rather talk with you. I have to tell you I’ve called the provider a few times already and I’ve had my fill of people telling me they have to check with their supervisor and call me back. You are the supervisor, correct?”
He sighed and glanced at the clock mounted on his wall. “I have fifteen minutes until my next meeting.”
“Great.” She stood to shut his door, then seated herself again.
“First, the Health Savings Account. Are we able to use those funds to cover alternative medicine treatments?” She already knew, through painstaking hours spent poring over the paperwork year after year, exactly what was and wasn’t covered as it pertained to her treatment preferences. But she made him go through it all, line by line, no by no, just for the satisfaction of making him realize how short their offerings fell, how their resources weren’t so great after all—though she suspected he already knew that. By the time they were finished, he looked exasperated, as he should have.
But she thought his exasperation misplaced. It had come together for her, under the trees: The brokers Toby had been courting when Daniel was coming home complaining about his spending. The change in her husband after his trip to Chicago: jumpy, antsy, and speaking no name but Toby’s. Daniel’s instant stiffening at her mention of the man walking by their home. She might feel as if her spouse barely knew her anymore, but she still knew him. She was going to gamble that she’d drawn the right conclusion. Now or never.
“And the Bank of Toby fund you’ve added to the 401(k) plans. I’m assuming you’ll start exempting Daniel from those withdrawals? If you haven’t already, of course.” Toby’s face froze as if, maybe, if he didn’t acknowledge that she’d spoken she might vanish from his office, all of this a bad dream.
She was simultaneously relieved and horrified. She had guessed correctly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You should beg everyone’s pardon. Doubt you’ll get it, though.”
His eyes narrowed, and she could imagine his crooked mind racing ahead, plotting his next move.
“Coming into your husband’s employer and throwing meritless accusations around is pretty off-the-handle stuff, Mrs. Perkins,” he said, their first-name basis behind them. “This meeting is over, and if we both agree there won’t be another, you’ll be getting off easy.”
“I’ll be getting off?” She dared to laugh. “I’ve done nothing wrong. But I’m here so you know that I’m well aware you have. And I can’t think of an impetus for me to keep that information to myself.”
“Can’t you?” he said coldly. “I strongly suggest you speak with your husband before you make any snap decisions to that end. Your culpable husband.”
She tried to hold steady. She’d come here hoping to flip the switch on Toby—but what if Daniel had already compromised himself somehow, beyond his complacent-as-always guilt-by-inaction? It wasn’t possible—was it? Daniel had flaws, but he wasn’t a crook. The fact that he was bothered by Toby was the reason she’d known to come here at all.
“Is there proof of that?”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “You mean aside from his sign-off on all the company’s finances?”
She shrugged. “You seem sure I care if my husband goes down with the ship. I just gave you a pretty decent idea of what my life is like—of everything that’s wrong with me, of everything my husband would prefer to stay out of, everything I don’t want him to know, to touch, even to have an opinion on. Does that sound like a happy marriage to you?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I can’t make out why you’re here. Did he put you up to this?”
“My husband doesn’t put me up to things,” she snapped. “That would imply he thinks I’m capable of handling them.”
“If he could see you now.” Sarcasm dripped from Toby’s voice.
“Let’s just say whatever you’re lording over Daniel isn’t going to work on me. And I work for one of the city’s most beloved nonprofits, with top donors from all over the business community. Make no mistake that you won’t go quietly. You won’t work in this town again.”
She could see in his eyes that he wanted to test her, but something seemed to be holding him back. Perhaps he really did have something on Daniel, a card up his sleeve he was debating whether to play. She didn’t like the idea of it, not at all. But she had to keep up this front.
“What would work on you?” he asked finally.
She hesitated. She hadn’t realized this would be so tempting: The shiny-red-apple prospect of arranging for her debts to be paid, right now. Of making another big problem go away. Skim the skimmer, blackmail the blackmailer, come down to the opponent’s level.
But no. She was better than that, even at her worst. She’d already fallen so much further than she wanted to face. And she was here to reduce the risk to her family, not increase it.
She leaned forward. “If you’ve made any kind of bad judgment call that has extended your ill-conceived threats from Daniel to the rest of my family? Or if you’ve so much as thought of doing so—sending a friend to do your grunt work, or stirring up that nosy sister of yours? You’d better never do it again. If you ever show up at my house, speak to my children, speak about me or my children to anyone, I will ruin you. Whatever game you’re playing, you pla
y it here, in this building. Anything to do with our family is out of bounds. Including Daniel’s 401(k).” She wasn’t just saying so on principle. They needed every cent.
“You’ve got the wrong guy, Mrs. Perkins,” he said evenly. “I think I know what you’re referring to, in terms of your after-hours visitors, and I can assure you, I’ve done no such thing.”
She had an unsettling feeling that he was telling the truth—he seemed almost entertained by the suggestion. She couldn’t trust it, though. He was someone who’d stood up in front of the whole company, looked them in the eye, and siphoned away their money. “And you never will again,” she said, her voice as strong as she could muster.
His hands, she noticed, were shaking, almost imperceptibly—but at what part of her affront she couldn’t tell. Damn it. She couldn’t tell. She’d hoped coming here would let her discern whether he’d been behind the mask, metaphorically or literally. But it had only affirmed that he was an asshole. Which everyone already knew.
“It’s too bad we’ve had to cut back our budget for social functions this year,” he said dryly. “I do always look forward to seeing the spouses at the holiday party.”
She got to her feet. If he’d been the intruder or had anything to do with it, perhaps this visit would deter him from anything further. Otherwise, this had done nothing but call more attention to Daniel’s place on Toby’s watch list. Which might even make things worse.
The reprieve she’d been hoping for slipped away. She would leave here still afraid. Still in debt, still in pain, still dreading a race with a finish line that seemed out of reach, still walled off from two of the people she cared about most.
Still not knowing what to do next.
“I know how closely you watch every cent,” she said pointedly, and had the satisfaction of seeing something of her own fear mirrored in Toby’s expression before she made for the door.
Forget You Know Me Page 22
