She was giving me a mischievous smile, sitting there next to her brother at the wooden table, holding a spoonful of ice cream. Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, catching the gold in her light brown hair. “I know your secret!”
Adrenaline flooded me—now she had my complete attention. Had she been looking out the window and seen me with the letter? I struggled to keep my voice calm. “I don’t have a secret.”
“What is it?” Matthew said. “I want to know Mommy’s secret!”
“She can’t tell you, dummy, or it wouldn’t be a secret anymore,” Lucy said.
“Don’t call your brother dumb,” Michael said.
“I can so know the secret,” Matthew said. “Mommy says not to keep secrets, right Mommy?” Absorbing part of the message I’d tried to impart about not keeping it secret if someone ever tried to touch them inappropriately.
“Yes, that’s right,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I’d tell you my secret, but I don’t have one to tell.”
“Uh-oh.” Lucy dropped her spoon and scrambled onto her knees on the chair, clapping both hands over her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “Mommy told a lie!”
“Hey, that’s enough,” Michael said reprovingly, even as my anxiety crossed into panic and paranoia. Could she somehow have overheard my conversation with Julie? Or with Sarah at the wake?
“But she did! She’s lying!” Lucy pointed a finger at me, her voice shrill, a small accuser at a witch trial. I suddenly smelled that rank, nose-curdling odor of blood and sulfur and saw Viktor’s gaping head wound.
“I don’t have a secret,” I repeated, even as Michael told Lucy to sit back down in her seat.
“What is it? I want to know the secret!” Matthew chimed in as Lucy sat down but continued to argue.
“There isn’t a secret,” I snapped. “Aren’t you done with your ice cream?”
“Babe, it’s okay,” Michael said to me, sounding surprised, as Lucy said to Matthew, “She doesn’t want to tell you.”
“I think snack time is over.” I picked up their bowls and headed toward the sink and Matthew burst into tears, not because I’d removed his bowl, but because he thought I wouldn’t tell him.
“All right, that’s enough,” Michael said to Lucy. “Either tell your brother the secret or you can go into time-out.”
“It’s Mommy’s secret,” Lucy said, her lower lip jutting out. What had she seen or heard? I tried to think of what I could say to distract Michael, to move them away from this topic, but he was focused entirely on Lucy.
“One,” he began, using that old parenting standby, the countdown, to force her to comply. “Two. You don’t want me to get to three, Lucy Elizabeth.”
“She doesn’t have to reveal someone else’s secret,” I protested, gripping the edge of the countertop. My words were lost by Lucy wailing that her father was “unfair.”
“Two-and-a-half—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell!” Her shriek was piercing.
“Now, please.” Michael sounded perfectly calm, but I was as flushed as our daughter, terrified at the prospect of what she’d reveal.
She gave a loud sniffle before announcing in a breathless tone, “Mommy ate ice cream for breakfast.”
Michael blinked, startled, and then tried to hide his smile, but Matthew twisted in his seat to look at me, his mouth open with shock. I sagged against the countertop feeling almost weak with relief, the look on Matthew’s face making me burst out in slightly hysterical laughter. I’d forgotten that Lucy had come upon me in the kitchen the other morning and caught me mindlessly eating mint chocolate chip straight from the container. I’d given her a taste as well. “Shh, it’s a secret,” I’d said, forgetting how literal kids could be.
“I want ice cream for breakfast, too,” Matthew said, quickly shifting his demands.
“Not a chance,” Michael said, sounding exasperated as he helped him down from his booster seat. “Go play and see if you and your sister can manage not to argue with each other for five minutes.”
Lucy seemed insulted by his comments and my laughter and stalked out of the room without speaking to either of us. “Kid drama,” Michael said with a snort. “I’ll get this,” he said, heading for the sink to rinse out the bowls.
“Thanks. I’m going to go change.” As I headed out of the kitchen I could hear Michael turn on the TV and the sound of glass clinking as he loaded the dishwasher. The front hall was empty. I checked to make sure that the kids weren’t hanging over the banister or lurking around the corner before quietly opening the door and retrieving the letter and my phone, hurriedly texting Julie once I was alone in my bedroom: Borough Park—one hour.
Her reply was swift: I’ll tell Sarah, but what about Heather?
I texted back: I’ll stop by her house on the way.
George didn’t need to be convinced about the park, tripping over his own paws and panting with excitement when he heard the rattle of his leash. Michael was a different story.
“Why the park? Are you okay to drive?”
“Don’t be silly—that was over an hour ago.” And the letter had completely sobered me up.
“But the alcohol could still be in your system. You don’t want to get stopped by the cops.”
No, definitely not. “I will go to the police.” I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to check on the letter, which I’d zipped in the pocket of the fleece jacket I’d put on over a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Michael leaned on the door out to the garage, watching me load George and his portable water bowl into the car. “Just be careful.”
“I’ll be fine.” I gave him a kiss, pulling quickly out of his embrace, afraid that he’d feel the crunch of the letter in my pocket. As I reversed down the driveway he was still standing in the doorway watching me.
Heather’s house was less than an eight-minute drive from mine, but with lights and traffic it could take as much as fifteen. It seemed hard to believe that it had been only eleven or twelve days since I’d responded to Heather’s call, making this same drive at manic speed, not caring whether the police stopped me. Now I was scared that they might, careful to drive within the speed limit, but just within, keeping the pressure steady on the village streets but flooring the accelerator on stretches where no one was around, taking the turns as tightly as I dared.
Her mailbox was at the end of the long drive up to their estate, an ornate metal box inserted in a stone pillar adjoining the wall. There was no one in sight and I lowered my car window and gave a quick tug to open it. The box was empty. Shutting it just as fast, I turned in to the entrance and made the long drive up to the house. The place looked deserted, my feet tapping loudly on the stone pavers as I walked from my car to the front door.
In the silence I could hear the muffled sound of the doorbell’s complicated peal. George whined softly from the car and a plane droned overhead. I pressed the bell again and, hearing something rustling nearby, turned fast to see a doe come out of the trees bordering the house. It stopped short, clearly as surprised as I was, the two of us staring at each another for a moment. The sound of the lock turning startled the deer and it bounded away into the woods as the door opened. Anna Lysenko stood in the doorway, looking annoyed and very tired.
“Yes?” It seemed as if she’d aged a decade, dark hollows under her sunken eyes, her skin sallow and spotted. It took a second for me to realize that she had no makeup on.
“I’m sorry to bother you—is Heather here?”
“She’s out; I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Past her shoulder I could see a pile of mail sitting on the hall table. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” I stalled, trying to think of how I could get inside.
“She’s taken Viktor’s son to play at his cousin’s. Apparently my grandson had to go there even though he has plenty of toys here to play with.” She sounded resentful.