by Katie Sise
Haley’s mom put her hands over her face, and into her palms she said, “Don’t. I beg you, Tim, please don’t.”
THIRTY-ONE
Emma
Ten years ago
I don’t stop running through the woods until I hear my name, which might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Don’t the vast majority of murderers know their victims?
“Emma!”
There it is again, but I can’t recognize the person because it sounds like he’s trying to hush his voice. It has to be Brad—who else? Still, I edge my way off the trail into the brush. I stand there, not moving a muscle, and I try to tell myself I’m completely safe, but the only thing scarier than the dark trail is the even darker woods that surround it.
“Emma!” the voice calls again.
Something prickly brushes against my leg, and I pray it isn’t alive. I let out a squeal. “Brad?” I call, hoping hard that it’s him.
It is. He rounds the trail, and as he comes closer, I can see the grimace on his face. “Why are you running?” he asks. “What are you doing back there?”
“Hiding,” I say, and then I start laughing way too loud, sounding completely insane. Another animal cries out—a coyote, I think.
“You said to meet you at marker two,” Brad says, a little out of breath. He’s not really in great shape.
“Sorry,” I say, but now I’m suddenly feeling annoyed. “I got scared and ran away a little, okay? Things happen.”
“Whatever,” he says, but it sounds too young, like he’s trying to talk in my language but can’t. He’s tired and lost, I realize as I look at him. Maybe we both are. It’s quiet for a moment, and he steps a little closer. He reaches out to touch my waist, and I think about how close his hand is to the baby.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my girlfriend,” he says.
“Your fiancée,” I correct him. “Priya is your fiancée.”
“Yes. My fiancée. Sorry, I hate that word.”
I shift my weight away from him, wondering if he can see the whites of my eyes rolling in the dark.
“Did you tell her?” he asks, his voice lower.
“That we’ve been sleeping together?” I want him to have to say it, but of course he doesn’t. “I didn’t tell her,” I say. “But I’m guessing she figured it out. Haven’t you talked to her?”
“Not yet,” he says. “Look, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand over his hair, and I can see how crystalline his eyes are, practically glowing in the dark. I think of how he was in bed, so sure of himself when we’d start taking off our clothes, like seducing me was part of an act. But then as the sex went on, he always lost himself in it. His hair would fall into his face, and he’d close his eyes like I wasn’t even there. It made me feel hollow, like I wanted to slip away, to sink into the sheets and sleep. I didn’t always feel that way, but it’d gotten way worse lately. Maybe I need to go back to that psychiatrist again. Or maybe I just need to break up with Brad.
Brad steps closer, and for a beat I think he’s going to kiss me. “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t tell her?” he asks, almost coyly. It’s so incredibly dark out here, but I can still make out a small gash above his eyebrow. I reach for it, but he grabs my wrist and stops my hand so quickly it makes me start.
“Ow! You’re hurting me.” His hand is still on my wrist, his grip too tight. “I didn’t tell her,” I say, just wanting him to let go of me. I’m relieved when my phone vibrates. I wrench my hand free and pull my phone from my pocket to see that it’s my dad calling. All I can think about is how much I wish I were with my parents right now. “I have to take this.”
“No you don’t,” Brad says.
“Now you’re acting like my teacher, and I’m not into that,” I say. “Maybe some of your other students are.”
His face twists with what might be genuine hurt, but it’s too hard to tell, the night is too black around us. “There aren’t other students,” he says as my phone keeps buzzing. “There’s only you. And you’re not my student.”
“Only me? Really?” I ask, feigning surprise. “You mean only Priya and me?”
“You know what I mean,” he says through a tight jaw.
I shrug, over this. “I’m pregnant,” I blurt.
He blinks, considering me. “No,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “No way.”
“You’re a doctor, so you understand how science works, right?” I ask, because I’m really getting sick of people and their disbelief today. Sex equals baby, even sometimes with a condom, and definitely without one, which was the incredibly stupid decision made by Noah and me.
“I also understand how birth control works,” Brad says. “And we always used it—I always used it.”
I should just say the baby is Noah’s, but I have to admit that a part of me is enjoying the sweat that’s breaking out on Brad’s forehead, glistening in the moonlight now that the clouds have passed. He’s always been slightly smug, like he knows so much more than me. It was an undercurrent in all our interactions, but it never bothered me enough to stop sleeping with him. But now I realize the power I hold over an older, almost-married man, and it makes me heady.
“Like I said, I’m pregnant,” I say. My phone stops vibrating, and I put it back into my pocket, my hand bumping against the pregnancy test I stashed there, and then I do something I didn’t plan to. I take out the test. I didn’t bring it to show to anyone tonight; I just didn’t want to leave it in my room where anyone could find it.
Brad grabs the test from my hand. He takes out his phone and uses the flashlight to read the word pregnant. His brow folds, and his face scares me. I’m about to tell him it isn’t his when my dad calls again. “Listen,” I say to Brad, wanting this to be over.
He looks up from the pregnancy test. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You listen to me, Emma.” He goes to pocket my test, but I snatch it back.
“That’s mine,” I say, and he doesn’t argue. He quickly moves toward me, his hands reaching for my neck. I try to back away, but he’s too fast. I stumble, falling to the ground, and he does, too. He crashes on top of me, and the wind gets knocked out of my chest. The baby’s not yours, I try to say, but I can’t get my breath back to push out the words. Brad’s hovering over me now, and I see fear glinting in his eyes as he stands and pulls me into the brush. I kick and scratch at him, still trying to catch my breath.
What have I done?
THIRTY-TWO
Haley
What have you done, Dad?” Haley asked. He was still sitting on Emma’s bed, perched forward, his eyes filled with tears.
“You’ll only hurt her,” Liv said softly.
“Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Haley said, inching away from her mom. She dropped Emma’s stuffed cat and steeled herself. “Dad?” she asked again.
A shiver passed over him—Haley could see it in the way his shoulders and arms twitched. The physical grief Emma provoked in all of them was a beast. Liv hid it the best, crying every so often and then letting it pass. But Haley could tell that for her dad, the grief got trapped inside his body just like it did for her. He might not tap or perform the same OCD rituals, but Emma was there inside all of them.
Her dad finally spoke. “Emma called me on the night she disappeared,” he started, his words slow at first. “She called me because she was scared. I could hear it in her voice when I finally listened to her voice mail.”
“Okay, Tim, that’s enough,” Liv protested. “It’s off your chest now.”
He ignored her. “But do you know why I didn’t pick up her call, Haley? Do you know why I declined a call from my Emma on the night she disappeared?” Haley suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to hear where this was going. Her dad stared hard like he actually wanted her to try to answer, and then he said, “I declined my daughter’s call because I was with the woman I was having an affair with. I was cheating on your mother, and I was so wrapped up in it. And for the first time in maybe forever I didn’t
pick up the phone for one of my daughters.” He shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it, and Haley started crying. “The outcome for Emma could have been so different,” he went on. “That’s the truth—I’ve gone over it in my mind thousands of times—so don’t try to talk me out of it. I’ve heard her voice mail a hundred times. She called me from the woods, from the last place she was ever seen, and she said twenty-six words, all of which sounded terrified. So don’t tell me what I can believe and what I can’t. There’s a chance I could have stopped my daughter from disappearing, and believing she’s still out there is the only way I know how to keep going. Do you understand me, Haley? This is the only way I can stay alive with what I’ve done. Because if she’s out there, I need to be here for her to come home to.”
Tears fell hot over Haley’s cheeks. “Oh, Dad,” she said. She knew him well enough to know what this must have done to him, carrying the weight of this terrible thing, the guilt of it all, thinking he could have stopped her—it must have nearly killed him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. It all made so much sense, how small his world had gotten, how obsessed he was with the idea that Emma could still be alive, how stubborn he was whenever they tried to tell him she wasn’t.
“You’re sorry?” he asked, blinking.
“Of course I’m sorry,” she said, and then she turned to her mother. “For you, too, Mom, that he did this to you, that he hurt you.” She turned back to her father. “But, Dad, to know you’ve had this guilt, on top of everything else . . .” She was awash with empathy for him, no matter what terribly stupid thing he’d done, the tears falling even faster now. “Emma’s not gone because of you,” she said, making her voice as strong as she could. “I don’t believe that. And I need you, too. What about staying alive because I’m here?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
Her dad ran a hand over his lined skin and looked out Emma’s window into the snow. “You’d be okay without me,” he finally said, and Liv started crying even harder, her eyes on Haley. “It’s the truth,” he said to both of them, “you know it is. I haven’t been much of a father since Emma disappeared. And you’re so strong, Haley.”
“I’m not strong enough to lose you,” Haley said. “I still need you.”
Haley’s dad sat back on the bed, sinking into the mattress. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again because of what I’ve done to your mother and your sister.”
“Never talk to you again?” Haley repeated. “Because of a mistake? Do you really think I’d give you up that easily, after everything we’ve all been through? I don’t think what happened to Emma is your fault,” she said again. “I just don’t. And I never will. So don’t even bother trying to convince me, and don’t apologize.”
“I cheated on your mom,” he said. “Even if you don’t blame me for Emma, you have every right to be furious at me for that.”
Haley looked down at the pattern on Emma’s rug, at the way the silky blue threads made spirals like those inside a seashell, and then said, “I’m furious about all of it, about everything that’s happened. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being furious. And maybe if we were a different family, I would let this final detail tear us apart, but we’re not a different family—we’re us. And I can’t pretend to understand marriage when I’ve never been married and can barely understand my own relationship. Your marriage is your business, really.”
Liv stopped crying. Maybe she thought the news of his affair would destroy Haley in some way, but the truth was there wasn’t anything else that could break Haley like her sister’s disappearance had—at least nothing that she could imagine. “How did you find out?” Haley asked her mom. She wasn’t sure why, but she needed to know.
“Apparently, your sister had seen them together,” Liv said, her voice soft.
“And Emma told you?” Haley asked.
Liv shook her head. “She confronted Dad. And they were supposed to talk that night more about it . . .” Her mom’s eyes cut to her dad, like she was worried she’d made a mistake, mentioned the wrong thing, but he picked up where she left off.
“Emma and I were texting. We were going to meet and talk more. I’d lost my cool earlier that week when she mentioned it to me; I regret that, but not nearly as much as I regret ignoring her call that night . . .”
He started to cry, and Liv put a hand on his knee, began rubbing circles. How many times had she been strong for him during the past decade? How did she do it?
“Mom,” Haley said, squeezing Liv’s other hand.
Liv let go of a breath and squeezed back. “Your dad told the police right away about the affair when Emma disappeared,” she said, “because the woman was married, and God forbid it had something to do with Emma vanishing. But it didn’t; the police looked into that thoroughly.”
Haley swallowed, needing to ask her mother something, but afraid to. “And you didn’t leave him?” she finally managed, as gently as she could. “I’m not judging you, I swear. I’m just wondering; I don’t understand marriage yet, like I said, and . . .”
Her dad wiped his eyes and looked away, but Liv held Haley’s glance. “Because we had to face something indescribably worse than an affair,” she said, “and I knew the only way we could survive it was to face it together.”
Haley tried to hold back more tears. Her parents exchanged a glance. “Is there something else? Anything you’re not telling me?” Haley asked.
Her dad shook his head. “No,” Liv said. “No other secrets.”
“Good,” Haley said, letting go of a shaky breath. “Then can we talk about what happened today, at the open house, if that’s okay with you both?” she asked carefully. “Because I have a very strong feeling that the person who killed Emma was at the house on Carrington Road today. Which means if this crime gets solved, then maybe so does ours.”
THIRTY-THREE
Priya
Priya drove straight home after the cops dropped her at the open house to retrieve her car. Where else was there to go?
There had been a time, years ago, when Priya would have gone to her studio on Yarrow’s campus; she would have chosen to be surrounded by her work. But those paintings had all been sold or given away, and that studio didn’t exist anymore. At least, not for her. The last thing she’d ever painted was a nude self-portrait with her belly at full capacity with Elliot, her face round and her ankles swollen. She’d never felt so beautiful and strange, and she wanted to capture that person who finally understood the meaning of the word expecting.
Now she sat on a wicker sofa and waited for Brad. It was almost five o’clock, and Elliot was next door with Robby. Alex had promised to keep him for dinner, and thank God, because there was no way Priya could have Elliot in the house when she confronted Brad.
Windows surrounded Priya on the porch. She looked out onto the snow that blanketed the lawn and weighed down the trees until the smaller branches looked like they would snap. The sun would set soon and leave her alone in the blackness with the man who may have killed Emma and hurt Josie. Was she supposed to try to protect herself from him? Was she a fool for not feeling terrified?
Priya kicked a quilt off her legs, wanting to feel the chill that matched her mood. She thought back to her and Brad’s third night home from the hospital with Elliot, when Brad finally convinced her to rest between feedings. She’d lain there alone in her bed while Brad rocked Elliot down the hall, and though she tried to sleep, the adrenaline from birthing her precious creature was still coursing through her veins. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, she’d tiptoed back down the hall to take over, but right as she was about to turn the knob, she heard Brad’s muffled crying. She waited outside the door for a few moments just to be sure—Brad never, ever cried—and then she crept slowly into the dark room. “Brad?” she’d whispered.
“I’m here,” he’d said.
She’d waited for her eyes to adjust. “What is it?” she’d asked, creeping over the carpet, not wanting to trip on a rogue nursing p
illow or baby blanket. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry,” Brad said. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”
Priya’s nerves had spiked. As she crept closer she could make out Elliot’s tiny, still form against Brad’s chest, and for a reckless moment she’d thought Brad had done something to her newborn. She was about to lunge forward when she heard Elliot let out a sleepy cry before nuzzling back into Brad’s chest.
“What do you mean?” she’d asked him, her breathing still way too fast. Was he talking about the cheating? Or had he done something so much worse?
He’d never answered her, and she let it go, because she truly believed he didn’t hurt Emma. But what if she was wrong back then? Could she be absolutely sure her husband didn’t hurt anyone? Could anyone be that sure about another person?
The front door opened with a familiar screech of wood against the frame.
“Priya,” Brad called out, his voice strangled. She braced herself for everything she was about to say, and for everything he might tell her.
THIRTY-FOUR
Haley
Haley pulled into the hospital’s parking lot for the second time that day, this time in her own car. Rappaport had shooed her away, but the hospital—and Josie, with all her answers, whether or not she remembered them yet—drew Haley back like a magnet. She still hadn’t heard from Dean, and as she parked and walked through a hazy mist of snow, she worried about why he hadn’t called her back. He had to be freaked out; there was no way he’d ever seen anything like what he’d seen today on Carrington Road. Even for Haley, who worked on a cadaver and did rounds in the hospital where people lay struggling, what had happened this morning was too violent and scary to comprehend yet.
Haley flashed her badge again at the guard and headed to the elevator. In the ICU she strode toward Josie’s room and saw the same police officer parked outside the door. There was no sign of Rappaport. The cop gave Haley a look like he wasn’t thrilled to see her, but he still stood to slide open the door, and that’s when Haley saw Noah, Chris, and—strangely—Dean. They were all staring down at Josie, their features drawn, and when they looked up to see Haley, Dean’s face went white.
