november
I didn’t fall asleep the rest of the night. Instead, I stayed up making lists: of people Olivia knew, of who the baby’s father might be, of who might want to hurt her. I wanted answers. Clarity. But there was none. As dawn broke over the horizon, the feelings inside me felt too big to turn off.
I paced the kitchen floor, the note clutched in my hand.
They were told to stop investigating.
I walked past the mirror in the living room and caught sight of my reflection. I looked terrible, blond hair stringy and dark with oil, skin yellow and jaundiced, my eyes bloodshot, from lack of sleep or too much alcohol, I wasn’t sure. My clavicles jutted out of my chest like little elbows. I looked disgusting.
Why had the detectives been told to stop investigating? And by whom? And who’d left me that note? I glanced at the clock, but it was only 6 a.m. I couldn’t call Anthony yet.
I dropped the note on the dining room table, my hands shaking, and headed for the shower. Stripping off my clothes and turning the temperature up as high as I could stand, I stepped into the water, directing the spray onto the knots along my shoulders. I let the water scald my skin until I felt faint and had to get out.
After that, I forced myself to eat breakfast. The stale Cheerios slid down my throat and plopped into the wine that still pooled in my stomach. I nearly retched but managed to hold it down. I needed my strength.
If the detectives thought I would walk away meekly, they had another think coming. I would make them see me, take me seriously. I wouldn’t let them close Olivia’s case without finding out what had really happened.
I stared at my cell phone. For the first time in a long time, I found myself in the position of needing someone. I’d become very good at being self-reliant, pushing people away. Losing Olivia had made me realize that. I supposed in a way I’d hidden behind my daughter, not only living for her, but also living through her. And I was fine with that. But now I needed help. If only it didn’t make me so uncomfortable.
At seven on the dot, I dialed Anthony’s number.
“Good morning, Abi.” He sounded pleased to hear from me, not at all surprised by the early morning call.
I rubbed my neck and told him about the note from last night, what it said and what it might mean. He listened intently in that way some people have of listening like there’s nothing else in the world but you.
“Did you see anybody around?” he asked.
“No. I mean, I didn’t exactly look. It was the middle of the night.” And I was terrified, I finished silently.
“Was there anything else left?”
“Do you have a security camera? Anything to see who it was?”
I almost laughed. “No. Just a regular old floodlight.”
“Hey, I was thinking, do you mind if I swing by your house and look at those picture files you were telling me about? Maybe I can see something in them. I’m meeting a friend near you today. If you don’t mind printing them out, I could stop by and grab them afterward?”
It was Saturday, and I had nothing planned. If Olivia were here, we’d lounge in our pajamas until noon, have bacon and eggs for breakfast, and put on a movie. Pain ripped through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Yes, of course.” My voice sounded ragged, the words like chips of ice scraping past my throat.
“Great. I’ll swing by around lunchtime.”
× × ×
I slammed the front door of my house so hard it rattled and launched myself across the road toward the beach, my tennis shoes thudding hard on the pavement. The morning was brittle and bright. The cold air hissed in and out of my lungs like a serrated knife, turning my breath to an icy fog. The pain felt good.
I pounded along the boardwalk, the sound of my feet hitting the old boards echoing in the early morning mist.
I’d abandoned my daily run since Olivia’s fall, and now my muscles felt like they were filled with sludge. But I pulled my beanie tight over my scalp and pushed on.
The rhythm of my feet, the staccato beat of my heart, the yelp of the seagulls became a melody, and soon I’d drifted into that zoned-out trance runners go into. Before I knew it, I’d run the four-mile half loop along the beach into town and back.
One of my neighbors, a chubby, overly friendly woman pushing a toddler in a stroller, waved as I passed. I waved back but didn’t slow. I still couldn’t bear talking to anybody, answering questions that had no answers.
Just before home, I slowed and veered off the path, picking my way across the huge boulders toward the water. The tide was all the way out, driftwood and seaweed marking the sand in a patchwork of art.
I stopped just before the water’s edge and sat on a huge boulder jutting out of the sand. I closed my eyes as wind whipped tendrils of hair around my face and deafened my ears. I let the spray of Puget Sound dampen my face as I listened to the sound of my heart beating. Suddenly something wet slapped against my face.
I gasped and leapt up. It was a dog. A beautiful golden retriever, her tongue lolling happily out of the side of her mouth. She tried to lick me again, and I smiled and stroked the dog’s head.
“Hey, you,” I murmured. Olivia had always begged to get a dog. I’d always said no, with the excuse that we didn’t have time to take care of it. I wished now I’d said yes. I wished I’d always said yes.
“Sorry!” I heard somebody shout. I looked over my shoulder, and two women were running toward me. One was model-thin and blond, the other a tall, athletic brunette. Both were dressed head-to-toe in running gear. They had the tight, toned bodies of women who had too much time on their hands and spent most of it at the gym.
“It’s okay.”
The blonde grabbed the dog’s collar. “She likes you,” she said with a smile. She bent to the dog and gave her an affectionate nuzzle. “Sadie, you funny thing!”
I patted Sadie’s head. “I like her, too.”
“You’re Abi Knight, right?” the blonde said as she straightened.
I nodded, startled. On second glance, I recognized them both.
Petite and pale, with hair pulled back dramatically from a narrow face, the blonde was Lizzie. I couldn’t remember the brunette’s name. She was strong and masculine-looking, with cheekbones like arrows and almond-shaped eyes.
They were both PTA moms: organizing fund-raising events for the school, chaperoning class field trips, setting up coffee mornings for the other mothers. I avoided them like the plague.
I knew the other moms thought I was aloof, reserved. I didn’t go for coffee or indulge in school-gate gossip. But being cool and detached were learned traits. Loss and life had taught me to contain my emotions, to stay away from things that could hurt.
And anyway, I was a single mom. I didn’t have time to manage these things.
“We were really sorry to hear about Olivia,” Lizzie said, her eyes shining like wet glass.
“Thanks,” I said. The word felt sharp in my mouth. The dog licked my hand, and I patted her again, then turned to go. “It was nice seeing you.”
They waved good-bye and walked away, the dog loping off ahead of them. I jogged a ways, then stopped and looked back. Their bodies leaned toward each other, as if they were a united force against the wind. I felt a stab of jealousy. When was the last time I’d felt I was part of a united force like that?
When was the last time I’d cared?
× × ×
When I returned home, Sarah’s car was idling in the driveway, the exhaust making white puffs in the chilly air.
Sarah cut the engine and got out as soon as she saw me. Her husband, Brad, climbed out of the passenger side and came around to hug me. I leaned against his massive chest. Brad was like a giant teddy bear.
Big and broad-shouldered, he wasn’t conventionally handsome. He had a neck thick as a football player’s, hands as large as my head, a receding hairline, and a nose too large for his face. But his brown eyes were warm and kind and he exuded an aura of safety and security. He was the exact right match for my sister.
When I pulled out of Brad’s embrace, I noticed his eyes were glittering. He swiped at his eyes and turned away as Sarah reached out to hug me.
She looked horrible. The purple smudges under her eyes, the gray cast to her skin, the deep creases etched like quotation marks around her mouth, all showed the toll the last month had taken. I was sure I looked like a mirror image.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Brad cleared his throat. “We’re taking Dylan to a movie. Do you want to come?”
I bent down and waved at Dylan in the backseat. Eight years old, blond and honey-sweet, Dylan waved back, then held up the iPad to show me a game he was playing. I gave him a thumbs-up and a weak smile.
I knew they were putting on the charade for me, to help me move on, accept. But I didn’t want to. The idea of sitting in a theater like a normal person made me want to scream.
“Thanks, but no.”
The sweat was drying on my skin, and I shivered in the sharp breeze. I needed to go inside.
“Please,” Brad said simply.
My sister reached for his hand and shot a smile at him. The way she looked at him made my heart hurt. They adored each other. There was none of that fighting or resentment some marriages had; only love and respect. A complete family. I couldn’t be around them.
“Honestly, I can’t.” I took a step back toward my house. “Anthony’s coming over.”
Sarah looked startled. “Wh—?”
“Mom, I’m hungry!” Dylan shouted out the open window.
Sarah leaned into the car’s open passenger window, rummaged in the glove compartment, and tossed him a small box of raisins. Sarah was an excellent mother. She was relentlessly competent, infinitely patient. I wished I had an ounce of her confidence.
Sarah turned to me. “Anthony who?”
“Anthony Bryant. I want to show him some pictures I found in Olivia’s iCloud account.”
Her face tightened, and I thought she was going to argue.
“At least somebody’s helping,” I said pointedly.
Sarah lifted her shoulders resignedly. “If it’ll help, I’m all for it, Abi,” she said.
Irritation sneaked up along my insides. I scraped my fingernails across the Lycra of my running pants so I wouldn’t say something mean. “He believes me.”
Sarah closed her eyes. She breathed deeply and slowly, drawing on her inner reserves of patience. I hated it when she did her yoga breathing. It meant she was at the end of her rope. It meant she’d stopped really listening.
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“You don’t think anybody hurt Olivia,” I accused, stunned by this realization. “You think the police were right!”
“I just think . . .” She looked up. “Why do you always think you know better?”
“Because this time I do!” I exclaimed. “And it seems like the only way I’m going to find out what really happened to Olivia is if I do it myself. The police aren’t investigating.”
“Yes they are!”
“No they—”
“Sarah!” Brad interjected, sliding a hand between us and looking pointedly at his wife. He turned to me. “What she means to say is, we just want to . . . manage expectations.”
I stared at them, incredulous. As grotesque as it was, the urge to find out what had happened to Olivia had stirred a small part of me, long buried beneath the rubble of what my life had become. Finding the truth was the right thing to do: for Olivia and for me.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” Sarah said wearily. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Just then there was a crunch of wheels on gravel. An unfamiliar silver BMW parked behind Sarah’s, and a second later Anthony got out. He looked freshly showered, his hair slightly damp. He seemed like the most normal person in the world with his scuffed tennis shoes and beige canvas coat.
“Hi, Sarah,” he said, walking toward her with a pleased smile.
“Hi, Anthony. Long time, no see.” Sarah hugged him, then introduced him to Brad. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s doing okay, thanks for asking. Her memory’s getting worse, but physically she’s still really healthy. Small blessings.”
“You still teach rowing at the boat club?”
“I’ve just come from there.” Anthony grinned.
“Mo-om! Da-ad!” Dylan shouted from the car.
Sarah rolled her eyes and laughed. “He calls,” she joked. “We better get going.”
Sarah and Brad slid into their car, but at the last minute Sarah stuck her head out the window. “Call me later, okay, Abi? We need to talk.”
I waved good-bye, and a minute later Anthony and I were alone in my front yard.