“Take all the time you want,” she said. “If we aren’t here when you get back, check the pool.”
The drive to the coast was short, and Clara followed the two-lane road along the Gulf through stop-and-go traffic for a few miles farther, until she reached the pier. She pulled the rental car into a spot and put more money in the meter than she’d need, just to be safe. Before her was an array of shops filled with impulse buys and guilty pleasures, and she set about browsing through one boutique, then the next, running her fingertips over racks of first-name key chains and palm tree magnets and sunset postcards. She stopped to examine miniature chests carved from driftwood, beds of perfect tiny shells inside. Colorful kites with long tails, fashioned to look like exotic animals turned airborne. Pretty flower-print sarongs, the kind that always seemed like just the thing until you got them home and realized they never fit any occasion in the Midwest.
There was nothing here that the kids would want, not really, and it was all priced too high. Besides, Thomas was going through a nosy stage. Sneaking anything past him into the luggage would be difficult, probably not worth the effort.
But there was a gorgeous array of irresistible sun hats. The aisle was empty, the store about to close, its off-season hours limited to daylight, and Clara took her time choosing a black woven one with a wide, curved brim that conveyed more glamour than whimsy. She fitted it onto her head and surveyed herself in the wall-mounted mirror, arranging her newly bobbed hair—the unfamiliar result of having accompanied her mother to her salon yesterday—to curve smoothly around her chin. She slipped on her sunglasses and nod ded at her reflection once, in brusque approval, before striding to the register.
“It suits you,” the cashier said, smiling, and Clara thanked her, wondering if it was true. She wasn’t sure what suited her these days, but she could already see Benny’s reaction to the hat, placing it on his own head and posing, making some wisecrack about the Kentucky Derby. Maybe they’d go this year—it was only a few hours’ drive away. She hoped to return from this trip with a weight shed, and who knew what surprises the lighter, freer Clara might have in store?
The shop door closed behind her with a familiar wind chime jingle, and she caught herself imagining what sort of boutique Randi and Rhoda might own if Yellow Springs were seaside. She liked to think they’d shun the pressure to trend toward the tacky, instead finding a beachy variation on the homespun offerings they curated so well back home.
The pier beyond the shops stretched over the water in a long, wide T, its odd hybrid structure formed from sections of traditional wooden slats reinforced by concrete slabs. Clara wandered out, her eyes on the spot where the glassy water met the sky. A mass of clouds had gathered, but the ethereal glow around the perimeter signified that somewhere beyond them, the sun was about to set. She made her way to the left tip of the T, wrapped her arms over the railing, and peered down to the water below, looking for signs of life.
“Nice hat.”
Clara turned, her poker face fading in spite of herself, a smile already playing on her lips. Kristin was wearing a clean white tennis visor, her dark curly hair gone sleek and auburn blond, her mirrored sunglasses impenetrable from the outside. But there was no disguising her voice, smooth and sardonic as ever, thick with a blend of amusement and emotion.
“One can never be too careful,” Clara said, her voice confidentially low. “The good doctor may have hired his own investigator, though I’m not entirely sure if he went through with it. He ended up getting a bit … distracted.”
Kristin nodded. “Well, we figured as much.”
“Where are the twins?”
She pointed, and Clara squinted in disbelief at the pair of kids pushing for turns at the rotating metal binoculars at the far end of the pier. She’d been prepared for Kristin’s disguise, had even had fun playing along with one of her own, but seeing two four-year-olds rendered unrecognizable made the reality of their running away snap into focus. Even with their baseball caps, she could tell their hair had been chopped and dyed.
“I gave them a whole pocketful of quarters,” Kristin said. “It’s not the end of the world if they see you, but it’s probably best if they don’t. They’ve finally stopped asking endless questions.”
“How are they?” she asked, fighting the urge to run and hug them.
“Really good. It was hard at first. But I think on some level—a very primal level—they know we’re better off.”
Clara nodded, unable to take her eyes off the twins. They were smiling, laughing. The force of the relief might have knocked her back—all three of them safe, within reach.
“I miss their curls,” Kristin said, sighing. “And mine. But keratin is pretty amazing. And they don’t even bat an eye at doing it to a kid. Really, other parents ought to be ashamed of themselves.”
“But not you,” Clara said firmly.
“No. Not me.” She shook her head. “I took your advice—I didn’t look back. No Internet, no TV. But I have to ask: How did it go over?”
“About like you thought it would. Everyone was mystified—no one saw it coming. No one heard anything or saw you go. And he was angry—about the money, at least.”
“He was under suspicion?”
Clara nodded. “But that was as far as it went.” It was a small lie of omission, and out of kindness. Clara tried not to think about how many of those she’d been accumulating. There was no point in telling her what she’d missed. Her missing it was the point.
“You managed to stay out of it?”
“I did my usual bang-up job.” Clara tried to laugh. “Nice touch, by the way, not actually telling me anything. The life insurance money, the kids not being Paul’s, how the two of you met, what he was really like, the rift with your family…”
Kristin’s eyes took on a familiar stance, between defensive and apologetic. “You were genuinely surprised when you needed to be, weren’t you?”
Clara nodded. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. It was a nice touch.” They watched together as a pair of pelicans rose from the water’s surface in a quick, graceful splash and glided, with a few effortless wing flaps, low and parallel to the shore. A nervous energy crackled in her throat, and she had to work up a bit of courage to speak again. “If you want to know the truth, I was terrified. The broken window, the Internet search, Abby’s I Can Do It! cover—I didn’t know what to think. I was legitimately worried that our plan hadn’t gone off.”
“I’m sorry. It had to be that way.” Kristin hesitated. “The window, he’d broken it two nights before. I was terrified, but in the morning, the kids were barely even fazed. When I realized shattered glass was becoming normal to them…” She shook her head.
So that was what had made Kristin finally crack. Friday after work, she’d stopped by to drop off some things Clara was borrowing for the next night’s patio party—a platter, an ice bucket—and burst into tears. As Clara had taken in her awful confession, she wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, more horrified.
“The Internet search started as a last-minute freak-out,” Kristin admitted. “I think I was trying to convince myself there had to be another way. But all it did was affirm that you were right.”
You have to go, Clara had told her. You have to go now. Tonight, or tomorrow … A divorce sure as hell wasn’t enough. Her experience in Liv’s sad case had raised questions no one had been able to answer. Namely, what anyone might have done to prevent the whole mess.
“And don’t even get me started on the damn book cover.”