NOW
“How much longer?” Marcus asked from the backseat. He wasn’t whining or complaining; simply curious. This was a road trip they had not taken before.
Jason answered from behind the wheel. “About half an hour.”
“ ’Kay.”
Frances looked over her shoulder and watched her son insert his earbuds again. He would be thirteen soon. He was five-foot-nine, skinny and gangly, with solid, pronounced joints that foreshadowed the big man he would become.
“What are you listening to?” she asked.
“A podcast about World War One.”
“It’s not violent, is it?” Frances’s brow furrowed with concern.
“War is violent, Mom. But it’s important to learn about it.”
Jason glanced over at her. “Our twelve-year-old is listening to a history podcast, Frances. That’s a good thing.”
She faced forward, a small smile on her face. Marcus had recently taken an interest in world history, reading books, watching movies, and listening to podcasts about ancient Rome, the Vikings, and now, the great wars. He was almost finished with seventh grade; his curiosity would serve him well as he entered his final year of middle school.
They would endure one more year at Forrester Academy; Marcus had already chosen a public high school with a project-based learning model that would suit his passionate interests. While privately Frances was relieved, she had let her son choose this path himself. If he had wanted to stay at Forrester, she would have supported him. And it would have been okay. In fact, the past year at the private school had been surprisingly tolerable.
Marcus had two friends now, both acquired during his Viking phase. The boys had bonded over their shared fascination with the ancient Scandinavian warriors, creating elaborate games of strategy using pine cones, painted rocks, and plastic figurines. While Marcus had not forgotten his old pal, Charles was mentioned less often now. Her son’s questions, his requests to contact the Randolph boy, had slowed to a trickle. He was moving on. He was going to be fine.
Frances was moving on, too. After several months as a Forrester pariah, she’d made a new friend. Andrea was a dentist whose daughter was a year younger than Marcus. The women had met volunteering at a fund-raising car wash (the school needed extra money to install a state-of-the-art photo lab, or heated toilet seats, or some other luxury). Andrea was warm and funny. She worked three days a week, so Frances didn’t see her often. Theirs was a normal, pleasant friendship. It wasn’t intense or overly close, but it was enough.
After Kate—Amber—left, Frances had looked for her online daily. These Google searches were partly out of curiosity, partly out of fear. They had dwindled now, to once every few months. The Randolphs’ new locale was still unknown, and Frances hoped it would stay that way. Despite her friend’s past deeds, despite her personal betrayal, she wanted Kate to live a life of anonymity. For Charles’s sake. And for Daisy, creating a new life in Berkeley.
Kate still haunted her thoughts, popped up in her dreams: some terrifying, some disturbingly intimate, some perfectly benign. It wasn’t easy to let go . . . especially since the text.
I miss you
It was from an unknown number, but it had to be her. Who else? Frances had looked up the area code: Louisiana. Kate had waited until Frances had almost put her out of her mind, and then she had reached out. She wanted to draw her back in, to play with her, toy with her like the sick sociopath she was. Unless . . . she was sincere? Maybe she really did miss Frances? Maybe their friendship had been real? Frances would never know, because she would never respond. She couldn’t.
She shifted in her seat and gazed out the passenger window. The scenery was becoming familiar now, a sense of nostalgia seeping into her being. She had been content here, once, before everything turned dark and ugly. Her return was bittersweet; both happy and sad. But she had needed to come. She was strong enough, healed enough. It was time.
Her husband’s voice cut into her reverie. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she said, smiling at his concern. “A little nervous, but excited.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Almost five years.”
“I guess Marcus has changed a bit then.”
Frances laughed. Her parents’ last trip to Bellevue had been filled with tension and secrets, but this visit would be different. Jason knew everything now. How Tricia had died, the role Frances had played in her death, how she had blamed and hated herself for years.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d asked, when she finally confessed. “You didn’t have to carry this burden alone.”
She would have carried it forever, if not for Kate.
With her husband’s support, she wrote to her family. In a long, heartfelt e-mail, she told them all about her friendship with Amber Kunik. It had been frightening, disturbing, and confounding, but, ultimately, it had allowed Frances to forgive herself for Tricia’s death. She hoped her family would be able to forgive her, too.
Her mother had responded almost instantly:
Of course, we forgive you. Tricia would want us to be a family.
So, the reunion had been planned. Mary Anne and her partner were flying in from Texas. Frances had not been to Spokane in years, and she knew her return would be emotional. The family would visit Tricia’s grave together. They would cry and grieve and heal, and then, they would work on rebuilding their family. Marcus was excited to get to know his aunt and uncle and his grandparents. They would all have to get to know one another again.
Frances’s phone, deep inside her purse, vibrated at her feet, announcing a text. She had been communicating with a creative-writing professor, inquiring about a workshop he was holding. She was eager to hear back from him. Frances had long been interested in writing as an outlet, and she had some stories to tell. Extracting her phone, she looked at the display.
Please forgive me. I can’t stop thinking about you.
The area code was 504. Louisiana.
Frances should have responded: Leave me alone, Kate. I don’t miss you. I don’t think about you. She should have blocked the number. But for some unexplained reason, she didn’t. Perhaps she was enjoying leading Kate on, just a little bit?
Her husband glanced over at her. “Anything important?”
“Nope.” She smiled at him as she deleted the text. “It’s nothing.”
The exit for Spokane loomed ahead of them. Jason said, “You ready?”
“I’m ready.”