The minute I got in the car, I grabbed my cell phone, thinking, I need to call Erik. The words tumbled over and over in my chest—I need to call Erik—the rhythm of them in sync with my breathing. The call went to voicemail, and I instantly redialed. Three times. Four? I need to call Erik.
Sweltering midday heat filled the car. I didn’t turn on the air conditioner, didn’t put down the windows. My tank top was drenched. I drove slowly, no radio, no sound. I felt as if I were submerged. Was it possible to cry underwater? Was this why I hadn’t been able to cry more than a handful of times all these years?
A part of me had almost drowned that day too.
I moved between anger, regret, fear, and disbelief. I had believed I could tell them about my past. I had believed it right up until the moment I started speaking. What had happened to Annabelle’s I mean it, Claire. You are not alone. You have us. It wasn’t that I thought they wouldn’t judge—I knew they’d be shocked and hurt, feel betrayed. But I also imagined they’d be sad for me. I thought they’d have questions about the hospital, about postpartum psychosis, about Lucy.
But that Annabelle would think I was a danger to our children?
No.
No.
No.
Not after sharing custody for six years, not after her telling me—how many times?—that I “get Spencer in a way no one else does.” Annabelle and I were a team. If she drove Spencer to chess, could I take Phoebe to karate? Could I get the girls to Brownies if she picked them up? Just two days ago, she’d phoned and asked, “What should we do about Phoebe? All the eye-rolling and air quotes, and she’s being mean to Hazel. I don’t like it.”
I tried Erik once more as I pulled into our drive, but it rang that odd double tone that meant he was on the line. Annabelle, I thought, and felt a pulse of dread in my stomach. Before I could try again, my phone rang. It was Eva.
“Hey,” I said as I unlocked our front door.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have spoken to you alone. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s not your fault, Eves.” I swallowed. “I just—how could she could think I would harm them?” My voice broke and I stopped, leaning against my office doorway. I had no idea why I’d come up here. My eyes immediately went to the photograph of Lucy, and I felt a sob bubble up in my chest.
“It’s just shocking, Claire. I get why you never told us, it’s just…”
“You think she had a right to know.”
Silence. And then, “Yeah. I’m sorry. I do.”
I sank abruptly into one of the armchairs. “But if we had told her from the beginning—”
“I know. She would have fought Erik for custody. You guys might not be together.” She paused. “I’m about to start rehearsal. Does it help to know that Kelly feels awful?”
No, it didn’t. I couldn’t think about Kelly, I didn’t care about Kelly. All I cared about was Erik—and Annabelle. She was my best friend. I needed her to know I would not have harmed our children. I felt like I couldn’t breathe until she knew that.
After I hung up with Eva, I tried Erik again, but just as I did, our front door opened and he was racing up the stairs to my office. “Claire?” he called. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I said, and started crying.
He pulled me to his chest, but I couldn’t be held, couldn’t even think. “What happened?” he asked when I stepped back from him. “I could barely make sense of anything Annabelle said, beyond—”
“Beyond the fact that I’m a danger to our kids?”
He didn’t respond, just lifted a stack of magazines from the armchair, set them on the floor, and sat, elbows on his knees. “I don’t understand,” he said after a minute. “Why now? We have five days until Kelly leaves. Five.”
“I knew I should have gone away.” But I also knew it wouldn’t have helped. Kelly would have still overheard Eva and Christine. I explained it to Erik.
“Jesus.” He looked at me bleakly.
“Tell me what Annabelle said.”
“What didn’t she say? We’re liars, I’m reprehensible, I jeopardized the kids….”
“She’s livid, Erik, and I know you said she would be, but to think I would harm them?”
“She reacts, Claire. You know that.” He held my stare. “I’m so sorry.”
I stared at the magazines piled by his chair. On top was the August issue of Delaware Beach Life, a magazine my mom sometimes sent. An article about the Perseid meteor showers over the ocean that month. I’d saved it for Spencer. I closed my eyes against the burn of more tears. “She knows me, Erik. She knows how much I love those kids.” My voice wavered, and I waited for him to say something, to reassure me that just as he eventually came around all those years ago, so too would Annabelle.
But he only glanced at his watch and said, “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to get back.” He stood and came to where I was sitting and leaned down to kiss me. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I walked him downstairs and out to the drive. The sky was overcast, leaves tossing in the sudden wind, and I crossed my arms against the chill. I was still in my running clothes. The girls would be home in a few hours, excited to celebrate their first day of school. I couldn’t think or feel. I needed Erik here. I needed to talk to Annabelle.
Erik put the car in reverse. At the bottom of the drive, he stopped, leaned out the window, and said, “Why don’t you give me a call when the girls get home?”
I started to respond, to say, Come on, Erik, what’s she going to do?
But I didn’t.
That was the moment I first felt the dread unfold in my chest like a paper fan. It would be there as I walked up the drive and showered and changed and pushed a cart through the grocery store, as I glanced at my phone every ten seconds, willing it to ring, willing it to be Annabelle. It felt like a blow each time another hour passed and I hadn’t heard from her.
It was so quiet that day, the kids gone, the house empty. I didn’t even call my mom. I was too numb and scared and ashamed, and it all felt like something that had happened before.