Confessions on the 7:45

by Lisa Unger

  “He wanted to take care of me,” said Selena. “Maybe I should have let him. It would be better than this.”

  She swept her hand around her dream kitchen, which now felt like a sound stage, propped up from behind, fake, one good push and it would all fall down.

  “I’m just saying. Don’t go backward because you’re scared now, honey. Don’t rush into Will’s arms to get away from Graham.”

  Few friends would dare to say something so bold, so nakedly true. Because that’s exactly what she wanted to do. And, even though she’d just denied it, she knew he was there waiting. It was a comfort to know that.

  “We’ll get through this like all the other ugly,” Beth went on. “And when you come out the other side, you’ll be stronger.”

  “If I come out the other side.”

  “I’m here.” Beth leaned forward, laced her fingers through Selena’s, blue eyes blazing. “I’ll drag you through if I have to. Just like you dragged me out of the woods.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, then both started laughing, remembering, though it had been far from funny at the time—Beth in so much pain, the afternoon waning into darkness, the fatigue, the struggle of it.

  “You were Iron Woman. All mettle and determination,” said Beth. “That’s who you are. Don’t forget it.”

  Selena wasn’t that. She wasn’t as strong as Beth, who’d been alone since she’d left her husband. Her friend had a few lackluster dates, but nothing ever developed into more. Her stance lately was very anti-male. She owned her own business, often traveled alone, or with her single friends. She seemed to like being alone, making her own way and living by her own rules. If she was lonely, she never said so. But would she? Would she admit that to her allegedly happily married friends?

  Selena had never been single, wasn’t even sure what it would be like.

  “And this woman?” said Beth. Another pour. “What’s that all about? You tell some stranger about Graham, but you don’t tell me?”

  “It was just this weird moment in time,” she said with a wave. “Believe me, I regret it.”

  “Well, cut that woman off,” said Beth. “Don’t talk to her again. That’s creepy, Selena. Is she like some stalker type?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t answer her. If she texts you again, have Will step in. And, you know what, tell the cops about her.”

  “How will it look now? Another thing I’ve kept from them.”

  “Have Will do it,” she said. It made sense. That was exactly what she should do. Why did she feel a stubborn hesitation?

  “Is Will your lawyer or is he Graham’s lawyer?” asked Beth.

  She hadn’t considered that. The question opened up a hollow in her center. “I guess he’s our lawyer.”

  Beth shook her head. “Girl, you need your own lawyer. Someone who represents your interests alone. Things are going to get ugly and you don’t want to be the one twisting.”

  She nodded. What a mess. She felt tears come, but she pushed them back.

  “You’re Iron Woman,” said Beth. “Don’t forget it.”

  She wasn’t made from iron, far from it. She had never felt weaker and more vulnerable in her life. But she smiled at her friend, remembering the day in the woods. How scared they’d been, how she was sure she didn’t have the strength to get them through, how Beth had walked the last mile gritting her teeth against the pain. They’d made it then, through sheer force of will. Sometimes that was all you had and all you needed, just the mettle to take the next step.

  “What now?” asked Beth.

  “Pack up—my stuff, and some more things for the boys.”

  “You’re leaving,” said Beth.

  “What choice do I have?” she said. “I can’t stay here. No matter what happens next. I have to go.”

  Beth nodded. “I’ll help you.”

  When they were done, moving from room to room, gathering clothes, stuffed animals, paperwork Selena might need, they put the suitcases by the door.

  “I’m here for you,” Beth said again as she held on tight to Selena in farewell.

  But they both knew that all she could be was a voice, a loving face over a glass of wine. On the dark road ahead, Selena would have to find her own way.

  Selena watched Beth duck her head and rush to her car, ignoring the reporters who followed. There seemed to be fewer of them. The news vans were gone. She felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this wasn’t such a big story, with no body, as Will said, nothing solid except some dirty texts. Maybe it could still all just go away.

  Beth waved from the car, and Selena waved back.

  They’d agreed that Selena should take some time off work. Beth offered to keep her at half salary, but Selena declined. Her friend ran a successful small business. She wasn’t going to be a burden when she’d come on to be an asset. They had savings; she had her parents. She couldn’t work anyway, not with the boys and everything that might come next. Life was on hold. Maybe her job would be waiting for her when this was over. Maybe she’d do something else.

  She sat again, knowing she had to call Oliver but looking into the dark fireplace instead, her limbs full of sand. She’d used up all her energy to pack. Should she turn on the television, see what they were reporting on the news? No. She couldn’t stand it. She breathed in the quiet a moment. Then, as she headed upstairs to make one last pass of the rooms, there was another knock on the door.

  A muffled voice thought the door: “Selena, it’s Will.”

  She let him in, closing the door quickly behind him.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “They questioned Graham rigorously,” said Will. “He was consistent. They slept together. The dirty texts were just in fun, according to him. They’d agreed that sleeping together was a mistake, that they should stop. And he has no idea where she is.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Will seemed to consider. “It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve. It’s my job to protect his rights and defend him if it comes to that.”

  “Will,” said Selena. “Do you think he hurt Geneva?”

  Will released a long breath, his gaze slipping away. “I don’t know, Selena. That Vegas thing, those texts—it changes how I see him.”

  It wasn’t what she expected him to say, and the words landed heavily on her shoulders. He didn’t know what Graham was capable of doing to another person. Neither, it seemed, did she.

  “I’ll take you to your Mom’s?”

  “I need my car.”

  “So, we’ll drive your car and I’ll Uber back to get mine.”

  She wanted to drive alone, but she let him help her load the car with the suitcases, the small bins of books and toys she’d taken from the boys’ room.

  Their room—Star Wars sheets, airplanes hanging from the ceilings, soccer trophies, action figures, shelves of toys and games—which she had decorated so carefully—seemed abandoned. The house, lovingly decorated—every drape and pillow, every hue of paint and placed object, curated by Selena. Without the energy of their bustling life, it all seemed cheap, empty, a body without a soul.

  “Have everything you need?” Will asked.

  She nodded, hefting a box, which he took from her. They walked into the garage.

  The police had impounded the SUV that Graham drove Friday night. So there was only their Subaru in the garage. They loaded the car, and then they climbed in.

  “Ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  She pressed the button on the remote and the door opened. The growing crowd of journalists parted as the car pulled out. They were shouting, snapping pictures.

  Will had coached her to keep her expression neutral and her eyes forward, betraying nothing of the roil within. She did that.

  Where’s Geneva? What’s happe
ned to the Naughty Nanny? Did your husband kill her?

  They sounded like seagulls, clamoring and calling, their words nonsense. She was grateful for the dark tinted windows of the car. She was so tired, so numb. She could sleep for a thousand years.

  “They can’t hold him much longer,” Will was saying. “There’s no physical evidence. They let Erik Tucker go. There’s no body or really any indication of foul play.”

  “They can keep him there for the rest of his life for all I care.”

  “Selena.”

  The ride was smooth and quiet. She felt ensconced, isolated from other cars on the road, as they drifted down her street and away from the mob. No one followed them. They took the little-known back roads that wound and twisted to her mother’s house.

  “Detective Crowe asked if I was angry, if I’d thought about hurting Geneva,” she told Will. “Like he thought maybe I had something to do with this.”

  Will shook his head in disapproval. “You should never have talked to him.”

  “I know.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. He knows my schedule for that day. The weekend is documented on social media. I’m sure he can discern where I was and what I did via my smartphone data. They have video of Geneva leaving our house unharmed on Friday. I think he was just goading me. Trying to get me to react.”

  She stopped short of telling Will she wanted to come clean with the police about the woman from the train. Something inside kept her from uttering the words. Why?

  Maybe because more than anything, Selena wanted this to just go away. Was that still possible?

  She spent the rest of the ride turning back the clock. If she’d left after the sexting. Or after the Vegas incident. How would things be different? But you couldn’t do that, could you? Not when there were children, people formed from your love for someone. There was no undoing the bad without losing the good. That was the trick of it all. The tangle of life. Just move forward, recalculate, recalibrate, find a new path.

  There were no reporters at her mother’s place, and they pulled into the garage that had been left open in anticipation of their arrival. They sat a moment after Will killed the engine. It ticked in the silence that fell. She didn’t want to go inside; she couldn’t go home. She let herself sit a moment, collect her resources to deal with the boys.

  “I wish...” Will started, putting his hand over hers.

  Beth’s warning rang in her ears. It was solid advice from a good friend. What she needed was space and time, to find her footing.

  “Don’t,” she said. He kept his eyes on her. She felt the heat of his gaze, though she didn’t return it.

  “That I went to that party with you.”

  It wasn’t what she expected him to say. She turned to look at him. He ran a hand through those wild honey curls.

  “What party?” she asked.

  “The night you met Graham. Remember?”

  She remembered. Of course she did.

  Cora and Paulo’s garage was meticulously organized—tools hung, bicycles on racks, kids’ gear from scooters to roller skates mounted or in clear bins. A stupid thing to notice, except that it struck a stark contrast to the disorder in her own life.

  Will’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “I was supposed to go with you. But I had to work late.”

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered.

  He lifted his palms. “I’m just saying. How would things be different?”

  “You don’t have kids,” she said. “It’s easy to say you regret how things went. But I have Stephen and Oliver.”

  “I know. Just—”

  “Don’t.”

  He nodded slowly, dipped his head. She flashed on the younger version of him, a day at the beach when he was tan and laughing, their toes buried in the sand. The girl who loved him was so free; she didn’t even know what freedom was then. Was he controlling? He used to buy clothes for her. She remembered liking that, that he knew her size, what looked good on her. But, yeah, sometimes she wore things she didn’t like to please him.

  “I’m—here for you. And for Graham.”

  With his hand still on hers, she felt the warmth of him, but also something else.

  He still loves you, Graham always complained. They’d all tried to be friends. So evolved, weren’t they? But dinners were always awkward, conversations stilted. Then Will and his wife divorced. It’s like he’s just waiting for you to find your way back to him.

  She disagreed. Will’s wife, Bella, was beautiful and sweet; they’d seemed happy. Together—in that way that people were or weren’t, loving looks, casual touches. But obviously she’d been wrong. So many marriages imploded before her eyes—her parents’, her sister’s, more than half of her friends’, her own. Maybe you just weren’t supposed to be together forever. Maybe it was too much to ask.

  She pulled her hand away gently, touched him on the leg. He watched her for a moment, then lowered his eyes.

  Whatever there was still between them, this wasn’t the time. She wasn’t the girl she was with Will, the woman she was with Graham. She wasn’t sure who she was right now. Maybe she was just a mother; that was all she had energy for as her life fell to pieces.

  He pressed his lips together, gave a tight nod of understanding, then helped her unload the car. Or maybe, she found herself thinking, as she hefted her suitcase from the car, maybe this was the moment where she found herself—not her parents’ daughter, Will’s girlfriend, Graham’s wife, Stephen and Oliver’s mom. She was all those things, or had been, would always be a mother. But now that her life was cracked, fractured beyond repair, maybe this is where Selena emerged, more herself than she had ever been.

  Inside the house, Stephen clung. But Oliver kept his distance, dark eyes on Will.

  “Where’s Dad?” he asked.

  “Boys,” said Paulo. “Come help me with dinner. Real men know how to cook.”

  He marshaled the boys into the kitchen.

  Selena let her mother take her into her arms and hold on tight.

  “Mom, is it okay if we stay here for a while?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. But could you find yourself when you were sleeping in your mother’s guest room? At least it wasn’t her old room from childhood; her father still lived in that house. She rarely visited.

  “This is your home,” her mother said. “Wherever I am, that’s where you belong.”

  You were always a mother, she guessed. No matter how old your children were. Her mom ushered her to the living room. Selena heard Paulo’s baritone, then the boys’ laughter.

  “Are you hungry?” Cora asked. That was always the first rule of mothering: make sure no one’s hungry.

  “Starving,” she admitted.

  “I have some soup.” Cora patted Selena’s arm. “I’ll heat it up. Just sit here, try to rest.”

  Will’s phone rang and he went into the other room to take the call. She tried not to listen. But she tensed just listening to the sound of his voice, even though she couldn’t understand the words. She knew that voice, quiet but dark. When he came back, his face was grim.

  She let the moment expand with her breath. The last moment, she thought for no reason. The last moment where things could still turn out okay.

  “Police have found the body of a young woman,” he said. “About five miles from the house. Joggers found the body off trail, back in the state park.”

  The trails Graham ran, regularly, when he used to run.

  Selena’s mother gasped, and Selena felt the world tip, sank into the couch.

  “Is it—Geneva?”

  Will looked behind him for the boys, she guessed, then lowered his voice a bit.

  “The body is so disfigured that it will take some time to identify.”

  Cora released a helpless, frightened noise. It was soft,
but Paulo must have heard because he emerged from the kitchen.

  Selena dipped her face into her hands and started to cry—for Geneva, for herself, for her boys, and for the dark road ahead of them—which just got darker.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Pearl

  Pop had been busy. Gone a lot, leaving Pearl to set up house. She presumed he’d found another lonely woman. This time, Pearl had her mission, separate from his. But she wasn’t making much progress. After all, she wondered, how could it work? Wouldn’t her father, if she found him, want to know where she’d been all these years? Would he want to know what had happened to Stella?

  Pearl had enrolled in community college, an institution that she knew was far beneath her intellectually. But she believed that your education was what you made of it. You could learn what you needed to learn anywhere. Fancy degrees from fancy schools, that was just another con—selling you the illusion of status. That’s what Pop said.

  Anyway, Pop wasn’t sure that her identity would hold up to very much scrutiny. And those fancy schools, they did tend to check into your pedigree. So some of the bigger institutions, the better ones, to which she aspired, were out of reach. She’d have to settle.

  “Do you imagine he cares?” asked Pop, when she brought up her concerns about her father and what questions he’d have for her if they connected. He wasn’t being cruel, just practical. An analysis of the mark—who was he? What did he want?

  It was one of the rare nights that she and Pop were home together. Things had changed between them somewhat. She wasn’t an asset to the game anymore. Now that she was an adult, and looked like one, she wasn’t a lure for that vulnerable older woman looking to mother. She was a threat—someone younger, more beautiful, in the way. They lay on the couch, her head on his thigh as he twirled at the length of her hair.

  “If he did, don’t you think he’d have—I don’t know—maybe hired someone to find you? Or kept on top of the police.”

  She wondered if the police had questioned him when Stella was killed. After all, if Pop could figure out who her father was, couldn’t they? She’d never read anything about him in the news accounts.