“Still no answer?”
Marcy sets her phone on the island, staring down at it like it just insulted her. “No. Still nothing.”
“Hopefully, she’s okay.”
“I don’t have Mark’s number or I’d try him.”
“I’d say he keeps that information to himself. He seems like a pretty private guy.”
“And with good reason, it seems.”
“Looks that way.”
“I wonder if Jill is going to catch on that this stuff is being done to them? Like done to them.”
“We don’t know for sure that this was part of it.”
“We don’t know anything for sure, but it doesn’t look good. That I know.”
“It would definitely be quite the coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“I know,” he says kindly, flashing Marcy what she calls his “tolerant smile.”
“Maybe we should resume Operation: Crack the Neighbors.”
“You named it?” When Marcy shrugs, John laughs. “Well, I’m not calling it that, but if we are still going to try to get in over there, now would probably be a great time. At least it would if we knew what was going on, who’s home over there. But if she won’t answer, I ca—”
Marcy’s phone jingles with an incoming text, cutting her off. “Oh, it’s Jill!” She swipes the blue bar and reads the message.
Jill: I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. Mark said he told you about the accident. I just wanted to let you know we are okay.
Marcy: I’m so glad to hear it. We’ve been worried.
Jill: Sorry to worry you. I’m just now checking my phone.
Marcy: Don’t apologize! My God, you’re in the hospital. Are you recovering well?
Jill: I’m okay. We both are. I got banged up a little, but Cheyenne is fine.
Marcy: Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need me to keep her so Mark can focus on helping you?
Jill: Sabrina took her to my mother’s house for a few days.
Marcy: Oh. Good idea. Well is there anything at all we can do to help? I can pick up your mail, get the dry cleaning, give the house a quick sprucing up before you come home.
Jill: I appreciate that so much, but I think they’re going to discharge me today.
“Damn it,” Marcy mutters as she reads. John appears at her side, leaning in to look over her shoulder.
“There goes that plan.”
“Yeah. Probably not smart to sneak in during the day.”
John shrugs. “We’ll just have to figure out something else.”
Marcy’s lips turn up at the corners. “I think I have just the opportunity.” She starts to type a response on her phone.
Marcy: That’s great news! Don’t you two worry about dinner tonight. I’ll make something and bring it over. Breakfast, too. It’s the least I can do.
“Nice,” John praises into her left ear.
Marcy hits enter and continues typing.
Marcy: I feel so helpless. Before you say no, please know that this will make me feel better.
She adds a winking face and waits. Marcy hears John’s soft laugh behind her and she turns to look at him. “What?”
“It’s possible you’re the devil.”
Marcy bats her lashes. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
“Not sure that was a compliment.”
Marcy grins. “Sure it was.”
After a few seconds thought, John agrees with her. “Yeah, you’re right. It was.”
“Not many men can appreciate a devious mind. Just another reason we’re perfect for each other.”
“You can never die and leave me.”
“Why is that?”
“How would that profile look on a dating site? ‘Single white male seeking devious devil woman’. Can you imagine the responses I’d get?”
Marcy laughs, even though it bothers her that he’s thinking about dating apps. “Probably a knock on the door from the local law enforcement.”
“Exactly. And then they’d throw me in jail and take Caroline to the nearest facility. We’d never see each other again and I’d live the rest of my life afraid of dropping the soap. See? You can’t ever leave me. Everything would go to shit in less than a week.”
Marcy smiles up at her husband. “I love the sentiment, but why are you thinking about dating apps?”
John rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I was sitting around thinking about them. It was just something funny that popped into my head.” Marcy nods, but her eyes remain a soft, turbulent gray. John reaches up to take her chin between his fingers. “I promise. After all we’ve been through, you should know where my loyalty lies. You’re the love of my life. You’re it for me. If something were to happen, God forbid, there would be no dating apps and no profiles and no other women. It would just be Caroline and me. Forever.”
Marcy’s rising anger rapidly disintegrates into a bone-deep sadness she can’t explain. “Promise?”
“I promise. I shouldn’t have even joked about something like that.”
Marcy wants to agree with him. Part of her wants to snap, No, you asshole! You shouldn’t have. But she doesn’t. She tucks the hurtful conversation into that corner of her heart where she keeps slights and snubs and insults and wrong doings. Even as a child, she was never able to let go of those kinds of things. The best she can hope for is to hide them. But they never leave her. Not the memory of the words or actions, nor the hurt they cause. They just crouch there, in that dark corner, growing and festering.
Tossing her phone aside without even checking it, Marcy steps away from her husband. “I’m going up to check on Caroline. Why don’t you make us some lunch?”
Marcy knows John was supposed to go into the office this afternoon, but she’s silently daring him to leave her. No way. Not after that conversation.
Always sensitive to her moods as they shift like the tides of the moon, John smiles. “Sure. I can be a little late today.”
Damn right you can be late.
Marcy keeps that to herself, too, as she mounts the stairs. As has become her habit since becoming a mother, she seeks comfort and solace in the company of her child.
Even though that child hardly speaks to her anymore.
Marcy raided her cupboards for ingredients to a cowboy casserole, and was thankful when she found all she needed. After John left, she browned a pound of hamburger, diced some veggies, mixed it all in with the sauce, and then set it to bake.
After spending some time on Caroline’s bed, watching her play in the sanctuary of her room, Marcy went back downstairs and saw Jill’s kind reply, saying she would be grateful for the dinner and breakfast. Marcy smiled. She’d tried to word it in such a way that she couldn’t refuse without seeming like a clod, and she must’ve been successful.
Now, the casserole only has ten more minutes until it’s done and she can take it next door. Jill and Mark arrived back home over an hour ago, so Marcy knows they’ll be there to receive it. Not that the dinner is the more important. She’s much more enthusiastic about the breakfast casserole. She’s hoping Mark will be asleep again, giving her time to chat with Jill alone. In her mind, she’s been running through all sorts of casual segues that will hopefully lead Jill into conversation about what has been happening to them. If she doesn’t take the bait, Marcy has already decided to take the direct approach and just flat-out ask her. Anyone with a brain can see that something is going on around their house. Nasty texts, gas leaks, dead cats, burned swings, and now faulty brakes—that reeked of foul play. If Jill couldn’t see that, she was blind. And not as smart as Marcy has given her credit for.
The timer dings and Marcy’s stomach flutters with excitement. She gets up and goes into the kitchen to remove the casserole from the oven, placing the dish into its insulated carrier. Her lips stay curved in a placid smile. If she didn’t have Caroline, she could see herself being a spy, or maybe an assassin. Investigating people, digging up their dirt, exposing their deepest, darkest secrets. Making men like Mark pay for their sins. She thinks she’d be quite good at something like that, and she’s certain she’d enjoy it. Although part of this makes her uneasy—the part about Mark possibly being a violent criminal who could hurt her child—the feral part of Marcy enjoys the hunt, the thrill of it. She imagines that most people would respond the same way—with exhilaration. It’s natural. Human. Acceptable. At least this part of it—the looking for secrets portion.
Humming a tune that’s been stuck in her head for a couple of days, Marcy takes the dish carrier and heads for the front door. She stops at the foot of the steps to call up to Caroline.
“Caroline, I’ll be right back. I’m going next door for a few minutes. Stay in your room please.” No response, which only brings a sigh to Marcy’s lips. Then she has an idea. “If you hear me and understand, stomp on the floor.” She waits, head cocked to one side. A few seconds later, she hears a muffled thump.
A win!
It’s a small win, but for some reason it feels like a major victory.
Marcy walks out the front door aglow and smiling broadly. Her daughter is still in there. Somewhere. Deep down. Marcy just has to keep working to bring her out.
Now she has two goals for the coming days.