by A. J. Banner
“Maybe you don’t, but I do.” I hang up, irritated, and against my better judgment I call Rianne, my breath catching when she answers. She’s reluctant to meet with me at first, says she must soon leave for work, but she finally agrees when I tell her it’s about Anna. I make a detour to the southwest side of town, where Anna stays with Rianne in a rented yellow Victorian, one of the original homes built in Tranquil Cove in the early 1900s, up a gentle slope from the waterfront. This is a risk, approaching the ex-wife, who thinks I’m a bad influence.
Yet here I am at her place. Delicate curtains obscure the windows; the manicured garden turns immaculate corners. Anna is riding her bike on the sidewalk. When she sees me pull up, she pedals toward me and stops next to the car, resting her feet on the ground.
“I’m here to see your mom,” I say.
“You c-c-can’t talk to her. I’ll get in trouble.” Oh no, the stuttering again. My heart sinks, but all is not lost. She’s distressed by recent events. This isn’t a permanent condition.
“Why will you get in trouble?” I say, smiling to hide my concern. “This is between me and your mom.”
“You’re not sup—posed to come here.” She’s holding the bicycle handlebars so tight, her knuckles are white.
“I won’t be here for long,” I say, looking up at the house. I squint in a blade of sunlight. “Do you like your room here? Did your jewelry box go on a shelf?”
Her lips quiver, and the bike wobbles a little. The helmet slips down over her forehead. “Wh-wh-what do you want to talk to her about?”
“Hello there!” Rianne peeks out the front door, waving. Her vintage gold jacket shines in the sun. “Come on up. Anna, you have ten more minutes outside.”
Anna frowns at me, hesitates, then pushes off and pedals down the road at top speed. I resist the urge to chase after her, to reassure her.
Rianne invites me inside the foyer, where leafy plants flourish on side tables beneath vaulted ceilings.
“Anna seems upset,” I say. “Her speech fluency—”
“I noticed the stuttering, too,” Rianne says, her voice threaded with worry. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No, I didn’t notice it before I got here. Look, I apologize for what happened, with the tree house. We . . . should have been watching her.”
“I should apologize for my rudeness when I was there. I’m concerned about our daughter’s well-being, that’s all. After what happened Friday—”
“Actually, I came here to ask you about that night.”
“Yes?” She looks at me with an unblinking gaze.
“Anna might have gone outside. Maybe she was taking video and she saw something.”
“She’s not allowed out at night.”
“Nathan knows that. We know that. But Anna is willful.”
“It’s Nathan’s job to—”
“I’m to blame, too. But if she saw something, it could be what scared her.” I tell Rianne about the pajamas in Anna’s backpack.
She ushers me into the living room, furnished in shades of muted beige. She sits in a cushioned chair, gripping the padded arm as if on a turbulent flight. “Do you think my daughter is hiding something? Something she knows? Could it be why her stuttering returned?”
I sit on a couch across from her. “I have no idea.”
“I see,” Rianne says.
“Nathan doesn’t want to tell the authorities. He thinks it will further upset her. I’m wondering if . . .”
“You want me to talk to the detective. I’m not sure. What is Nathan even thinking?”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. Would you be open to sending Anna to talk to someone else, if not the police?”
“A therapist. That’s what you’re suggesting.” Her voice is distant, distracted.
“Whatever you think is best,” I say.
“I’ll talk to Anna. What you’re saying . . . It does explain her panic. Her urge to run away. The stuttering. And what happened to Lauren . . . on top of what happened the night before, has only compounded Anna’s trauma.”
“What happened the night before—you mean our engagement.”
“Anna has trouble with too many changes all at once. Sometimes she doesn’t even recognize them. Here’s an example.” She picks up a glazed, red clay bowl from the coffee table. Lopsided, imperfect, but imbued with charm and originality. “She made this in class a few weeks ago. Look at the inscription.” She flips the bowl over, showing me the engraving on the bottom, in tiny letters. 4 Mom+Dad. Anna
“How sweet,” I say, although the words jab at my heart. But what child wouldn’t want her parents together again?
“She still sees the three of us as a family unit.” Rianne frowns as she places the bowl back on the table. “Things like this . . . I let them go. I don’t need to remind her that her father and I are no longer living in the same house. That she can’t give the bowl to both of us. She’s anxious enough as it is. And, she’s finally realizing the truth. Friday night, she sent me numerous texts. She seemed frantic.”
“She did rush off to bed early. I was worried.”
Rianne looks up at me, the brooding light reflected in her blue eyes. “She was wound up about the engagement. I wouldn’t be surprised if she went outside, as you say. Do you think she saw Nathan? He told me he was stepping out when I sent him a text.”
“So, he wasn’t lying. You did text him.”
“It was late, I know. Could she have seen him out there, I wonder?”
“You mean, maybe she thought he had something to do with Lauren’s—?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Rianne says, but her words sound frail, unsure of themselves. “She knows that. I know that. But still.”
I look at the photographs lined up on the mantel. Anna in a school play, dancing, in a formal school picture. “Maybe I can convince him to talk to her, find out if she saw him, and he can clear up any strange ideas in her head.”
“I’ll talk to Nathan, too,” Rianne says. “She so desperately needs stability. She acts out these days.”
“Acts out?” I think of the photograph with my face cut away. But I won’t mention it to Rianne.
“She gets into moods. Always did, but more so now. She needs a predictable schedule, a calm life.”
“I agree with you. I care about Anna.”
“I know you do.”
“We didn’t want to bring drama into her life.”
“Oh, I know that,” she says. “I didn’t mean to imply. I only mean, she deserves happiness. I never wanted her to grow up the way I did, in a broken family.”
“She’s resilient. We’ll work this out.”
Rianne smiles at me. “Sounds as though you already have—Nathan’s schedule isn’t too difficult for you? He gets called in at all hours. Does he still go out on long calls at night?”
“Not too often,” I say. I get up, on edge. She walks me to the front door.
“Maybe he’s settling down. His schedule was always crazy.”
“I suppose it’s the nature of his job.” I can’t shake the image of Nathan slipping out of the bedroom, his face lit by his cell phone screen.
“He was always eager to run into work if someone called in sick or needed a replacement. He was dedicated to that job. It goes way back.”
“You mean because of his mother.”
“He told you.” She opens the door, gestures to Anna to come back. She’s pedaling up the road, her hair billowing from beneath her helmet.
“He said his mom suffered from an irregular heartbeat once when his dad was in surgery. A first responder saved her life, and Nathan never forgot. The paramedic became his hero.”
“There you go,” Rianne says. “You know him pretty well now, after such a short time.”
I smile tightly, resisting the urge to defend myself. It’s none of her business, but in a way, she’s right. Nathan and I have been together a short time in the large scheme of things.
I step out onto the porch,
squint in the sun. Anna’s pedaling up the driveway. She parks her bike against the detached garage, unstraps her helmet.
“Thanks for taking time to talk to me,” I say to Rianne.
“You’re still worried. I understand that feeling. You’re so much in love with him, and yet . . .”
I look at her, my heart fluttering against my rib cage. Anna puts her helmet on the handlebars. “I’m not worried,” I say, a lie.
“But you’re questioning things.” Rianne smiles wistfully. “I know. I’ve been there. When he takes off at night, sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s going to work, to help people—sometimes, well, you know, the imagination can wander off in all directions.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Why the hell did you talk to Rianne?” Nathan says. We’re out for a late dinner at Tranquil by the Bay, our table overlooking the water, candle flames flickering between us. At nearly eight thirty, a few couples linger in quiet corners; moonlight ripples across the sea. Nathan beguiles me in that pale-green flannel shirt, the top buttons open as usual, those faded jeans, and that haphazard smile.
“Rianne was willing to talk to me about Anna,” I say. “She’s not in denial.”
“You went to her house. She’s unhinged.”
“That’s a harsh statement.” I look at him and realize, I don’t know what’s true. His damning of Rianne seems so extreme.
“Is this why you suggested dinner, to push me about Anna again?”
“Not only about Anna.” He doesn’t know that I tried on five different pairs of earrings before settling on a pair in filigreed gold to match the engagement ring, or that I fretted before choosing a black satin skirt and a soft, chestnut sweater. That I am uncertain. That Lauren’s apparition materialized from the shadows, her face bloody and caked in sand. What are you doing, going out for dinner, when I’m dead? How dare you?
“Drinks for you two?” the waitress says, laying the menus on the table.
“Water, please,” I say. No alcohol for me tonight. I need a clear head.
“A glass of white,” Nathan says, still looking at me.
“Coming right up.” She bounces away, and I unfold the cloth napkin on my lap, open the menu. Mango kale salad, risotto primavera . . .
Nathan sets the menu on his plate, leans forward, and reaches for my hand. I hold on to him, instant relief. I didn’t realize how much I needed his touch, the warmth and firmness of his grip. “What’s this all about?” he says.
“It’s about us,” I say. “Everything feels out of balance. Like somehow, through all this, a happy future might be out of reach.”
“What makes you say that? Nothing has changed between us. We can weather this. Families fall apart and come back together in different ways. People are born. People die. We laugh and cry and mourn those we’ve lost. Grief is part of life.”
“I know all that. It’s just . . . I feel like Lauren died, and everything changed. I’m looking at the world through a foggy window, and I can’t clear the glass.”
“Lean on me,” he says. “Wait, isn’t that a song?”
I withdraw my hand from his and smile as the waitress returns with our drinks. Nathan orders the fish and chips; I choose the risotto. I glance at the couple two tables over, their gazes locked together.
“Why did you and Rianne split up?” I say after the waitress walks away. “You never really told me, and when I visited her, she implied . . .”
“Oh hell no. Let’s not talk about her.” He presses his fingers to his forehead, flicks them away, as if to dispel any thought of her.
“She implied that she was afraid during your marriage. Maybe she suspected you of cheating on her. She talked about your night shifts.”
“That . . . Jesus. I can’t believe this.” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Opens them. “You shouldn’t talk to her. Her ideas are way out there.”
“Way out where?”
“She was overly suspicious.”
“That’s an extreme thing to say about your own ex-wife, the mother of your child.”
“I’m shocked by that fact every day.”
The waitress brings our appetizer salads, butter lettuce garnished with radishes and onion, a mustard dressing on the side.
“You’re going to have to explain,” I say. “Tell me why you think she’s unhinged.”
Nathan digs into his salad. He looks at me, the tightness returning to the muscles of his face. He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know what Rianne was like when I married her. She got pregnant, and when Anna was born, I fell in love with being a dad. But Rianne got possessive and demanding.”
“That’s vague. How exactly?”
“She’s insecure. To put it mildly. Had to know where I was every minute, what I was doing. I stayed too long in a bad marriage, because of Anna.”
“To keep the family together. Rianne suggested your night shifts were—”
“They were night shifts. Still are. I’ve stayed in my profession to take care of Anna, too, to make sure she has food, clothes, birthday presents. I could have quit. I’ve seen enough shit to traumatize a person for life. But having a kid, it changes things. I’d do anything for her.”
“Like protect her from herself? You’re not surprised that she was outside in the night.”
“You told Rianne. Now she’ll blame me . . . I can’t live without Anna.”
“You think Rianne will try to take her away. You think this is about Rianne’s assessment of you.”
He looks up at me. “No, it’s about Anna! What if Rianne wants full custody? Thinks I’m an unfit parent? Anna doesn’t want to live at her mom’s house all the time.”
A small stab in my heart. “Things didn’t work out for you three as a family. But you can’t keep trying to protect Anna—you have to address whatever is going on with her.”
“She’s confused. That’s all. When I first saw you, when you were with her at school, she was smiling. She loved what you were doing for her. I hadn’t seen her smile in so long.”
“But that was then. This is now.” The food on my plate is suddenly unappetizing.
“She’ll get over this.”
I look at him squarely. “Someone pushed Lauren off a cliff—”
“You still don’t know that.”
I lean forward, closer to him. “And you are as good as obstructing—”
“You can’t believe that!” He glances over at the next table, then lowers his voice. “I want to know what happened to her as much as you do. You can’t let this come between us. What Brynn saw, I don’t know. She’s seriously troubled. She fought with her parents. I could hear them sometimes. For all we know, she could have—”
“What? Thrown her own mother off a cliff? And lied about seeing Anna out there?” I look out the window, but I feel the possibility in his suggestion. I see Brynn’s cold eyes, hear the anger in her voice. Boarding school . . . She would’ve tried to drag me there.
“Maybe.” Nathan sits back. “Anna’s coming to stay with me later this week. Let’s just be with her. Be Dad and Marissa. Maybe she’ll talk to us on her own.”
I hesitate. “All right. You’re her dad. If that’s what you want to do.”
“I do. Trust me on this.”
“I always trust you,” I say, but what if Anna saw Nathan outside that night? And if she saw her dad, was he doing something other than sending a text to Rianne? He said he needed air.
“Maybe a trip into the city this weekend?” he says. “It will be a distraction, at least.”
I smile and nod, and as we order blackberry cheesecake for dessert, made from a local harvest, I push away my misgivings. I’m happy with Nathan. He loves me. He loves his daughter. I can’t fault him for protecting her. Maybe I’m the one who is overly suspicious. Before I met him, I had only one serious relationship after Jensen. But I was never completely in love, so I broke it off after a year. I’ve always been okay alone, waiting for the perfect man to come along: someone exciting but al
so honest, caring, and seemingly incapable of betrayal. Nobody truly fit the bill—until Nathan. The first morning I woke in his bed, the soft rush of the ocean flowing in through the window, I was at peace. I knew I had to hold on to him. I still feel that way. But. The but crept into my mind Friday night and stayed there, the echo of what happened before, in the college apartment. The flutter of the curtain when I walked in early, the heaviness in the air, a hint of something I had yet to discover. But I can’t look for signs of betrayal. I must believe in Nathan, or else what’s the point?
We’re the last to leave the restaurant, arms around each other in the cold. A black sky blots out the stars, clouds sweeping in for the night. On the way home in his truck, I sit close to him, my hand on his thigh. His warmth radiates through me, and I can feel his heartbeat, his slow, deep breathing. The smell of him, soap and wine, wraps around me. I allow my worries to wane, and I imagine waking next to him every morning, my clothes hanging permanently in the closet. My piano in his living room, my favorite blue armchair by the window. My pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets. I’ll share breakfast with him every morning; he loves apricot marmalade, hard-boiled eggs.
Back in his house, we slip off our coats, and he kisses me, pulling me against him. His lips feel cool, urgent. He walks me down the hall, still kissing me, unbuttoning my blouse. We leave a trail of clothing on the floor, landmarks on the path to the bed. I drink him in, grateful for his gentle touch. In the darkness, we could be on another planet, in another universe where grief doesn’t exist. He knows how to heighten my pleasure with a simple caress, a whisper in my ear. He urges me to let go, to give myself over to him, and I do.
Afterward, as I lie in his arms, languid and half-asleep, the air seems to buzz with ambient energy. He strokes my arm absentmindedly. “I’ve been thinking about work,” he says softly into my hair.
“How romantic,” I whisper, although I don’t need to be quiet. We’re the only ones here.
“No, I mean I want to retire early. It’s why I’m taking so many shifts. I want to get rid of this job, spend more time with you and Anna.”
I sit up and turn to look down at him in the darkness, at the rough etching of his face. “Are you serious?”