by D. J. Palmer
“You really need to make sure you have your EpiPens on you at all times,” Maggie’s doctor had instructed, taking a sterner tone than Nina thought necessary.
“The pen case was actually in the backpack, in a zippered pouch Ben didn’t check,” Simon said. “There was a lot of confusion, so it’s completely understandable he missed it. Lucky for us, the nurse keeps a supply on hand.”
Nina could picture the scene in her mind, the utter pandemonium in the cafeteria as Maggie’s breathing slowed while her scarlet rashes deepened.
“Ben feels terrible about it,” Nina told her daughter. “He’s really upset and blames himself.”
“I called the Odells to let them know you were going to be fine,” Simon added.
“Do you know what caused the reaction?” Nina asked the doctor, who returned a somewhat indifferent shrug. Her job was to stave off death, and so as far as she was concerned, this was mission accomplished.
“It’s hard to say. Could have been cross-contamination from a food-processing plant,” the doctor offered. “It’s rare, but I’ve seen it before.”
Nobody was going to analyze what Maggie had for lunch that day. In the rush to get to the hospital, it had been left behind and then discarded by custodial staff. Even so, Nina would carefully revisit every scrap of food she’d prepared and contact any company she suspected of cross-contamination in case a recall was in order.
She phoned Ginny and Susanna to update them on all that had happened. Both friends offered to come to the hospital for moral support, but Nina assured them she was fine on her own.
There was another matter weighing on her, one Nina could not discuss with Simon, or her friends for that matter: Hugh Dolan had reached out to her again. In his message, which had come to her via text earlier in the day, he had offered more information on Simon, including files containing his personal research into Emma’s death, along with a promise that there’d be no fee attached. Hugh claimed to like Nina, said that he’d appreciated her kindness, and wanted to clear his conscience that he’d done everything in his power to keep her safe.
Hugh’s sudden altruism was not entirely convincing. Of course, Nina wanted to see those files of his, scour them for something the police might have missed, but she doubted he had anything for her apart from plans for another shakedown. Besides, Simon had once again shown himself to be a loving, supportive, and concerned partner, everything she could have hoped for in a moment of crisis.
The next call Nina made was to her parents, who were understandably distraught to hear the news. Nina assured them as best she could that Maggie was going to be okay, and described Simon’s heroics in detail.
“It’s good to know there are still good men out there.” Her father’s jab was obviously directed at Glen, and it was the first indication he was warming to Simon. Nina took it as a good sign, but doubted it would be enough to convince Simon to put aside his issues with Maggie and come to Nebraska with them for Thanksgiving. Perhaps Maggie would be grateful to Simon, though, and would come around all on her own.
Since they’d arrived at the hospital separately, Nina and Simon had to get home separately. Simon drove his truck while Nina followed in her car. Maggie, her voice a bit weaker, complexion paler than normal, talked about Laura Able, specifically the kindness she’d shown.
“Nothing like a near-death experience to make you realize that stupid things are stupid, I guess,” her daughter said.
Maggie’s observation brought Hugh to mind again. Maybe she should reach out to him, check out those files he’d offered. Maybe it wasn’t another attempt at extortion. Maybe there was good in him, too, because there really was some good in most everyone, including Laura Able.
Nina thought grimly of Hugh’s words of warning, concluding that really nothing was safe. Marriages, new relationships, life itself, it was all incredibly fragile, it could all come undone with a single bite of food, one picture of a waitress, one warning from an ex-brother-in-law. The best Nina could do was to listen to her heart, trust her instincts, and those told her that Simon was good. More than good—throughout today’s horrifying ordeal, he had been a godsend. He had helped save her daughter’s precious life, and for that, she would be forever grateful.
Simon unloaded the car while Nina got the kids settled. Connor had stayed at home with Daisy, but the stress of the day worked as a sleeping potion. Both children were out as soon as their heads touched the pillow.
Nina returned to the kitchen, where she scoured the ingredients she had used for Maggie’s lunch, including the ones in those brownies.
“I’ve used that brownie mix before,” she said, sounding perplexed, looking through the trash for the box the mix had come in. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s probably some cross-contamination, like the doctor said,” Simon suggested. “Let me check the recycling bin.”
Simon went to the garage, and moments later he returned with a flattened box of brownie mix that made Nina do a double take.
“That’s not the brand I buy,” she said, taking the box from Simon. She went to the pantry where she kept other boxed mixes. “Here,” she said, showing Simon the mix she normally purchased. The packaging looked similar, but the box in Simon’s hand was a brand Nina had never purchased before. Using her phone, Nina checked an allergy Web site she turned to whenever a food item gave her any questions. Their motto—If You Can’t Read It, Don’t Eat It!—were words Nina lived by.
“This product isn’t safe,” Nina said, as she scanned the clear warning on the Web site indicating that this particular brownie mix was manufactured on equipment that also processed tree nuts and peanuts. “I wouldn’t have bought this.” Nina’s voice shook with anger and disbelief. “I’d never get this.”
Simon took the box from her and eyed it curiously.
“You went shopping a couple days ago, right? You must have been distracted,” he said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. With Glen, your job—look, it’s too much for anyone. The mistake is completely understandable, but I’ve been warning you something bad might happen if you didn’t quit.”
How could I do that? Nina asked herself. It was so out of character. If anything, she was the most thoughtful and conscientious about ingredients in their food. It simply didn’t register.
A thought struck her. She could check. Nina went to the mudroom where she kept her purse. From inside she fished out her wallet. She always stuffed a stack of receipts in there, and soon enough found the one from her last shopping trip.
She scanned the items.
Fruits. Vegetables. Milk. Eggs. And toward the bottom were the packaged goods—pastas, canned soup, and there, near the very end, was a $3.99 purchase for her brand of brownie mix, the one she’d bought for years. The box Simon had shown was similar in appearance to her brand—both had large red logos—but the receipt was proof she hadn’t made a mistake.
Simon’s words struck her like a punch.
I’ve been warning you something bad might happen.
One warning too many. This one was like a flash of light exploding in her mind, blinding her momentarily. And then she could see it clearly, so it had to be possible.
She went from the mudroom to the bathroom directly off the kitchen, hoping she’d gone there unnoticed.
Closing the door gently, Nina locked it behind her, not wanting to say anything until her racing heart slowed enough for her thoughts to come together. Right now, those thoughts were flashes, quick answers to Hugh’s questions. Has he isolated you from your friends and family yet? Does he make you question things? Does he try to control your life?
She wanted so desperately to believe in Simon that she had bought into every rational explanation for every behavior. But now, seeing things in a new light, the answers to every one of Hugh’s questions was a resounding yes. She replayed the incidents one more time to make sure, categorizing them in her mind as she did. When she studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her hairstyle, so dramatically new an
d different, made Nina think a stranger was staring back at her.
If Simon had shown her the brownie mix she normally purchased, maybe she’d have believed cross-contamination. Instead, he went for something to make her doubt herself, to convince her that her work was making her careless and distracted, nearly causing the death of her daughter. Job or no job, Nina was too experienced, too damn vigilant, to make a mistake like that.
She thought of the wedge he’d begun to put between her and her parents. She thought of all the ways Simon had kept her from seeing Ginny and Susanna—all of it and more designed to make her doubt herself.
Why all this business with Maggie then? Nina tried to puzzle it out. Maggie wasn’t the source of Simon’s distress. It was the job, the damn job. She thought of Emma again, of Hugh’s warnings, and the answer was simple and in front of her all this time: control. If Maggie were in crisis, Nina would be forced to reexamine her priorities. Eventually, when it got bad enough, she’d have to quit. And now look what her job had done—or so Simon was saying. Just as he had said to Emma.
And how likely was it that Maggie’s EpiPens weren’t easy to find? Ben Odell was the most competent boy she’d ever met. He wouldn’t have missed seeing the case. It was always in Maggie’s backpack, unless . . . unless the pens really weren’t there.
Could Simon have removed them? In all that chaos, how easy would it have been for him to slip the pen case back into her backpack with nobody noticing? As easy as putting a drop of peanut oil in the brownies. And why do it? Well, there’s nothing like the near-death experience of a child to make one reconsider her priorities, that’s why.
Nina returned to the kitchen to find Simon pacing the room. He read the ingredients on the box in his hand, looking baffled, head down, like he was studying for an exam. She gripped the kitchen counter to steady her shaking hands. Simon looked up at her.
“I’ll call the company first thing in the morning,” he said. “Tell them the packaging similarities nearly caused a deadly mistake.”
“Get out,” Nina whispered.
Simon’s eyes widened as if disbelieving what he heard. “Nina, what?”
“Get out,” she repeated, hissing the words in a low voice. She swallowed her anger and fear.
Simon’s surprise deepened. “What . . . what are you talking about? Nina, you’re stressed . . . you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m finally thinking clearly,” Nina said, stepping forward. “Get out of my house. Get out now.”
“It’s our house, Nina,” Simon said. “Or did you forget?”
Simon didn’t sound or look furious or even surprised anymore.
“In ten seconds, if you don’t start packing a bag, I will go outside to the police car currently parked in front of our house and tell them that you tried to kill my daughter.”
As it turned out, Glen had finally, albeit unwittingly, done something to help her. The police were already here.
“Are you crazy?” Simon’s voice carried an edge of anger, as the darkness in his eyes deepened. “You have no proof of that.”
“No, I don’t.” Nina summoned strength and conviction she hadn’t known she had. “But it’ll ruin your teaching career, and that’s just the start.”
In a flash, Nina played out in her mind what would happen if she marched down the walkway, banged on the window of the police car parked curbside, and cried for help. She knew the laws, because more often than not, the police called in social workers when they lacked legal authority. They would investigate her claims for sure, but this was not a domestic violence incident. There were no signs of struggle or violence of any kind. She was well, the children were fine, nobody was drunk or high, and Simon would of course be on his best behavior. She had no marks on her person, so she couldn’t lie about being hit or choked. If she did, Simon would claim the charges against him were fabricated and she’d be in the one in trouble.
No doubt, if she did raise a ruckus the police would probably call for backup. The children would awaken. The authorities would interview Simon in the house, not down at the station, because they’d have no cause to arrest him. They’d simply want to know why Nina was making these allegations. And he’d have an answer.
“I’m sorry for all this craziness, officers,” she imagined Simon would say. “Nina’s been under tremendous stress because of Glen and now this terrible incident with Maggie. I just need to get her to bed. She’ll be better in the morning.”
Nina could make a scene. Beg for help. But again, what crime had been committed here? She could try to explain the long string of events that had led her to the conclusion that Simon was dangerously manipulative, but not without sounding like a lunatic. Her best bet was to bluff and hope that Simon wasn’t as intimately familiar with police procedure as she was.
Simon took a threatening step forward. Nina held her ground, forcing herself to gaze into the blackness of his eyes, seeing in them something deeply disturbing.
“Go upstairs pack a bag and get out of here. Get out before I make things much worse for you.”
The words trembled from Nina’s lips.
“I love you, Nina,” Simon said, sounding as sweet and sincere as she’d ever heard him. “You need help, serious help. But I’m not going to put you under any more stress. I can tell you’re at your breaking point. So I’ll go. Okay? I’ll leave, right now, but remember, this is my property, too.”
My property . . .
His comment evoked a memory of those tree branches. Everything in Simon’s world, Nina thought, from his clothes to the people in it, needed to be ordered, neat, to fit inside defined compartments in his mind.
“I expect you to get over whatever is going on with you right now and to invite me back into my house very soon.” Simon’s tone was severe, borderline threatening. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to take action on my own.”
“Action?” Nina’s brow knitted as her voice rose in pitch.
“You’re a social worker,” Simon said. “You of all people know it’s not acceptable to leave children in a dangerous situation. Your thoughtlessness could have killed Maggie today.”
Was he threatening to accuse her of being an incompetent parent? Yes, that’s exactly what he was doing, she decided. Threatening to take the children away from her.
“And don’t forget Glen is out there somewhere,” Simon continued. “What if he wants his kids back? Who is going to stop him? You? The police? You need me, Nina, you need my help.”
“Help with what?”
“Protection, for one, from Glen. But most importantly, I need to teach you how to be a good mother.” Simon glared at Nina, piercing her with an icy chill. “I’m a teacher. It’s what I do. I educate. And you have a lot to learn before you can be the wife and mother I expect you to be. There is a right way and a wrong way to be, for everything and everyone. That includes you.”
Simon left the kitchen. Finally, Nina felt like she could breathe again. Still, she followed him upstairs, praying he wouldn’t try to do anything to the children. She carried her phone in one hand, 911 pre-entered and ready to send, and in the other was a kitchen knife hidden behind her back. Her heart hammered in her throat while she watched Simon pack a single bag. Minutes later he was downstairs.
He opened the front door and stepped outside onto the porch landing. He stood there a long while, a suitcase of clothes in one hand, the leather bag she’d bought him for a birthday gift in the other. He kept his back to Nina.
Without any sort of good-bye, Simon closed the door softly behind him, and then he was gone.
Chapter 51
The evening after I nearly died was Sports Award Night at the high school. Unfortunately, I had to go. Connor was getting some big award so he had to be there, and Mom didn’t want to miss it, because she’s a mom. Our world might have been turned upside down, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t do normal things too.
Mom was worried about me, of course, but not worried enough to let me stay home alone. Wi
th Dad back in the picture, she was concerned he might show up at the house. Maybe he’d try to take me, she said. Or worse. I wasn’t worried. Dad would never hurt me or try to kidnap me, but Mom didn’t see it the same way, and I wasn’t going to argue.
Either way, I felt pretty good. I had rested at home all day, with no side effects from the allergy attack. I probably could have gone to school, but I didn’t want all the attention. Everyone checked in with me anyway—including Laura Able. We talked by phone (real voices, not just texts) and it was a bit awkward, but it was also kind of okay. I’m not talking rainbows and unicorns or anything like that. I wasn’t going back to my old crew—no way. But I realized it was easier not to carry all that anger and resentment around. In a way, just by being nice, Laura had made it possible for me to leave her and Justin and all of her other pals behind for good. I call that progress.
I figured Simon would be joining us at the big event, but no, he didn’t. In fact, I hadn’t seen him all day. When I asked Mom, she told me we’d talk about it after the awards night. That gave me a big lift.
“Talk about it” sounded like code for “we got into a huge fight and he’s gone,” maybe for good. I looked around the crowded auditorium for signs of Simon but didn’t see him anywhere. It wasn’t his school, but still, I figured he might have shown up, invited or not, to watch Connor get his award.
Connor was around somewhere with his team. The football team was always the grand finale. Groan. This evening was going to take forever, and we’d have to stay until the end.