I remember dragging myself out to the bus stop with Owen and Aubrey while gulping down a cup of coffee, and once the children had been successfully loaded on the bus and waved off, having a quick conversation with Alison. It was supposed to be her turn to check in with Heather, but she asked if I could cover, because she was late on a project. She looked as tired as I felt, shadows under her eyes, clothing and hair both rumpled as if she’d gotten out of bed and come straight there, which perhaps she had. I glanced at my watch; my closing wasn’t until ten that morning. “I can do it. I’ve got a form for the fashion show that I need to give her anyway, so it’s an excuse to drop by.”
The drive to Heather’s took me no more than ten minutes, and only because I slowed down for lights. After the minor fender bender, I wasn’t risking any more accidents, but I also hoped to arrive after Viktor had left for work. When I turned in through the two stone pillars at the end of her driveway, the radio was playing some pop song by a singer I didn’t recognize, whose refrain, uttered in a low, mournful voice, was “Why did you have to hurt me?” I pulled up in front of the house and stopped the car, the voice cutting off abruptly at “why.” The only other sounds—the knocks and bumps of the engine as it cooled off and the slam of the car door as I got out—suddenly seemed very loud. There were no other cars on the driveway, but to the right of the house was a three-car garage, ample storage for Viktor’s beloved bottle-green Mercedes as well as Heather’s BMW. I was conscious of my heels clicking on the stone pavers as I walked to the front door, practically tiptoeing in an effort to avoid the noise. I had to ring the bell three times, listening to the faint melodious chime, before Heather finally answered the door, breathing hard and tying the strings of a filmy silk robe around her. Apparently I’d gotten her out of bed. “What time is it?” she said, stifling a yawn as she leaned forward to give me a kiss. As I stepped past her into the hall I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.
“Is Viktor here?” I asked in a low voice.
She shook her head. “He left a while ago.”
“How are you?” I asked as she closed the door, trying to act as if I weren’t scrutinizing her. She was sensitive to it; she’d asked me multiple times not to stare at her.
With the door closed, the hallway was dim. Her skin, always pale, looked practically translucent in this light. It was hard to tell whether the purple smudges under her eyes were shadows or souvenirs from Viktor’s fist. She wandered down the hall, a ghostly figure, and I followed after her into the kitchen.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Heather asked, yawning again as she opened a cupboard.
“Yes, please, that would be great,” I said, amazed that my voice could sound so normal when my mind kept showing me shattered glass, cupboard doors hanging open like hairs standing on end.
There was something off about the house, the stillness. Of course, I’ve been in hundreds of houses—some places so cluttered that I practically need a hiking stick to fend my way through mountains of junk, and others that are absolutely vacant, where dust balls linger in corners and even whispers echo. Homes have an energy that you can feel the moment you walk in the door. Some people pooh-pooh this and laugh at any mention of feng shui or bad flow, but as a Realtor I take these vibes seriously, so trust me when I tell you that there was something different in the house that day, some negative energy.
“I just wanted to drop off the fashion-show form,” I said as I pulled it from my purse.
Heather used her expensive espresso machine to make me a cup and then pushed the buttons again for hers.
“Are you allowed to have caffeine?” I asked, surprised. “My doctor always said no.”
She stopped short, jerking the cup back out as the machine continued to fill, and pouring it down the drain. “I forgot,” she said with a rueful smile. “Good thing you’re here.” She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and the form from me. “I told you that I don’t think I can do it.”
“You don’t have to answer now—just give it some thought.”
Her eyes betrayed her skepticism, but she said nothing, just laying the form on the counter between us, before taking a long swallow from her water bottle. My own nervousness made me prattle on about the fashion show, desperate to try to ease the tension that hung in the air. Heather didn’t seem to notice. I hid behind my coffee, my eyes darting from her to the rest of the house, while she stood there fidgeting with the cap on her water bottle. Could she have lied? Could Viktor still be there, lurking upstairs, waiting for me to leave?
This is what I’d berate myself for later. This moment. I’d known things were getting bad, but I didn’t realize just how bad they were until that morning in the house—the feeling of someone there, of some malevolent presence. I should have done something, but instead, after a few minutes, I said my good-byes, gulping in the air when I was on the other side of the door as if I’d been unable to breathe.
chapter twelve
ALISON
The strange thing about a secret is it longs to be told. Someone can confide personal news—a terminal illness, having lied on a job application, even an indiscretion with a stranger—and you might simply focus on the story itself, the details and the implications, but if they add that caveat “don’t tell,” then suddenly that’s all you can think about doing.
At least that’s how it was for me. At the bus stop in the afternoons or at the soccer pitch on Saturday mornings, I’d wonder if any of the other parents suspected anything. “Have you ever noticed anything odd about Viktor?” I always wanted to ask them.
Finally, desperate to talk to someone besides Julie and Sarah, I drove one morning to Indiana, Pennsylvania, to talk to my brother. Sean is a police officer there, a job he’s held since he graduated from the academy back when he was nineteen. It was over an hour’s drive and I was behind in work, but I justified the trip and telling him because as a cop he’d be able to offer some real help. The truth was that I just needed to tell someone.
Sean is four years older than I am and it’s always been the two of us against the world. Our mother’s family came from Indiana and some of my happiest memories are of time spent there, the two of us playing in the summer with cousins, or visiting at Christmastime. I know this is what brought Sean there—a happy place, the chance to build the life we’d never had. Stability.
He was out on a case when I arrived, so the desk sergeant ushered me into a comfortable meeting room, joking that he could let me wait in a holding cell if I preferred. The secretary brought me coffee a short time later. It was all very friendly and yet just being in that building made me feel tense.
As time ticked away I thought I’d made a mistake by coming. What if my brother asked for Viktor’s name? Or wanted to contact Heather? Just as I was standing up to leave, Sean opened the door.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said with a big smile, giving me a hug. He looked good in his uniform. Sean had been promoted to lieutenant a year earlier and I wondered how many women he’d turned down over the years. “What’s up? You’ve been ducking so many of my calls that I thought you’d crossed me off your Christmas list.” He laughed, but I winced.
“Sorry, I know, I’ve been busy,” I said, glancing at my watch to avoid meeting his gaze. “I just wanted to say hi, but I should get back. I need to pick up the kids.”
“Hey, I was just kidding. You can’t leave yet—I just got here. Sit down for a minute.” He took a seat at the table and I sat back down across from him. He nodded at my mug. “You want some more coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“I know it sucks. I’m trying to get the department to cough up money for a Keurig.” He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “You got the latest letter?”
I should have known he’d bring it up. That’s why he’d been calling. That’s why I’d been avoiding him. Heather’s situation had distracted me from my own problems. I nodded, shifting in my seat. “They always show up, just like a bad penny.”
He laughed, but his warm brown eyes weren’t smiling. “Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“So you know about the cancer?”
I nodded again. He didn’t say anything and I knew he wanted me to speak, to ask questions or express concern. I felt that familiar acid wash down my throat. “How long?”