Rowan thought of her own quiet apartment and sat down in the empty chair—Poppy’s chair.
It was easier than Rowan would have imagined to keep the kids entertained. She did her balance-a-spoon-on-her-nose trick. James made various coins from his pockets disappear. Rowan sang “Itsy Bitsy Spider” in the Donald Duck voice she and her brother Michael had spent hours perfecting. Both kids laughed happily and ate well. The oven dinged, and Rowan pulled out the cupcakes and, after they cooled a bit, frosted them with Skylar’s help.
By the time the sun had set over the Hudson, Briony had fallen asleep in Rowan’s arms on the couch. Rowan gently placed her in her crib, only to find Skylar behind her, begging that she read her a Madeline book—a first edition, signed to Adele, Poppy’s mother, from the author. James eased Skylar into bed. “Aunt Rowan in bed too,” Skylar insisted, and James stepped back, allowing Rowan to climb in. She tucked her legs under the covers, her heart breaking at the fussiness of Skylar’s lacy sheets and how tightly the little girl clung to a stuffed turtle Poppy had bought for her in Meriweather last year.
“Are you okay, Aunt Rowan?” Skylar asked.
Rowan looked over at her, realizing there were tears in her eyes. She had been staring at a page of the book but hadn’t started to read. “I’m great,” she said quickly, swallowing the sob. “I’m just happy to be here with you.”
Finally Skylar fell asleep. Rowan carefully settled her head on the pillow, pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulder, and tiptoed out of the room. James was waiting in the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Thank you.”
Rowan lowered her eyes. “It was nothing.” She walked into the kitchen. There was a pile of dishes in the sink.
“The kids seem okay, all things considered,” she said as she filled the sink with bubbly water.
James moved next to her. Rowan could smell his familiar peppermint soap. “Well, Briony doesn’t really get it, and I’m not sure how much Skylar understands, either. But she really misses her mom.”
Rowan nodded. “Of course she does.” And that would never go away. Even at thirty-two, Rowan still called her mom several times a week and tried to visit her childhood home in Chappaqua at least once a month. It was important to Leona that the family stay in touch, especially with her two sons so far away. Just that morning, Leona had called to report that her lilac tree out back was beginning to flower.
James moved away from the sink, wiping his hands on a towel. “I looked around the memorial service for, you know. Him. Anyone who seemed . . . unfamiliar.”
Rowan’s head snapped up. “You still think she was having an affair?”
James ran his hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t be thinking about it right now, but I can’t stop. I just keep imagining her whispering on the phone. There were so many nights when she didn’t come home.” He gazed out the window. “I was this ready to say something to her.”
There were no dishes left to wash, but Rowan kept her hands in the water anyway. “Did you say anything to the FBI about it?” she asked. She’d spoken to Foley yesterday.
“Yes. I thought they should know.”
“Oh.” Rowan swallowed hard. “Did you tell them . . . where you were that morning?”
James took a dish and dried it. “I didn’t tell them where I woke up. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Rowan felt a lump in her throat. Keeping her eyes on the spout at the sink, she nodded faintly. “Yeah.” She tried to sound tough and unaffected. “I mean, after all, it wasn’t like it . . . meant anything.”
She hadn’t told Foley, either, simply telling the agent that she’d been walking to work when it happened. She might not have pushed her cousin, but Rowan hardly felt innocent.
A siren blared outside. Rowan winced, worried it might wake up the girls, but there were no sounds from their bedrooms. James picked up a little glass bird from the windowsill. It was a souvenir from James and Poppy’s honeymoon in Thailand—they’d found it in their suite, and Poppy thought it would bring them good luck.
He made a small noise at the back of his throat. “It’s just so fucked up,” he said in a choked voice. “How could this have happened?”
Rowan’s chest tightened. “I don’t know,” she whispered. A plastic sippy cup in a wire rack next to the sink suddenly tipped over. When she looked up again, James was quietly staring at her from across the sink. He took a breath, and then said, “How are you doing with everything?”
Rowan’s gaze instantly snapped to the floor. “You shouldn’t think about me in all this.”
“I shouldn’t?”