“Harry?” Jim said, scanning the rows as Zoe had just done.
Everyone looked around. Finally Jim looked at her. “Where’s Harry?”
She must have mumbled something like “I don’t know” or maybe just said nothing at all, because Jim turned away from her and looked at Mrs. Patterson. “What should we do?”
“Can someone else from the team introduce Zoe?” she asked.
Eric jumped up and introduced her without so much as a blush or a moment’s hesitation. Every other introduction was just as fluid, just as fast. And then introductions were over and they were all sitting down again.
“And now,” Jim said, “I’d like to invite our first speaker for the affirmative, Zoe Stanhope, to please take the floor!”
There was clapping, and Zoe’s heartbeat started to thrum in her ears. She stared at the door, waiting for Harry to come flying in, apologizing for being late. But the doors remained closed. The clapping died down and the class looked at her, all of them expectant. Zoe tried to push her chair back but her feet didn’t seem to work properly. Potential disasters popped into her mind, one after the other. What if her skirt was hitched into her underwear? What if she blushed? What if she panicked? A tingle started around her chest and suddenly her bladder felt full.
I am calm, confident, and in control. I am calm, confident, and in control.
She managed to hoist herself into a standing position, but stayed where she was, behind the desk. “Uh…,” she started, into the cavernous room. “Thank you all for being here today … students, and um … Mrs.…” Her mind went blank. What was her teacher’s name again? She looked down at her cards, but her neatly printed handwriting was suddenly blurry. “May I begin by…,” she started from memory, and then a card dropped from her shaking hands. “Whoops,” she said, squatting to pick it up. She dropped another. Her face burned red. Why had she agreed to do a debate? Was she crazy? From a squatting position, Zoe glanced around, catching Mrs. Patterson’s eye, noting a faint sense of worry on her face.
The silence in the room was loud. So loud.
She stood again. In the crowd, she saw Emily, her expression unreadable. No one else could meet her gaze. Someone coughed, then someone else. Zoe’s breath started to be sucked from her lungs. She knew she should speak—saying something was still a hell of a lot better than saying nothing—but nothing would come and all she could think was that she couldn’t breathe and that she really needed to pee. She closed her eyes, but then all she could think was that now she was a freak with her eyes closed. So she opened them, her knees pressing together, her face pinched and hot, trying not to cry. Trying to breathe.
Finally Mrs. Patterson spoke: “Zoe, do you need a break? Maybe we can start with the…”
The door suddenly burst open and there he was. Harry. He did a quick scan of the room and then his eyes locked on her. She saw him register the scene and the reflected panic in his face. She’d seen the same look on her mother’s face so many times before. But this time it was worse. Because it wasn’t her mother. And because this time her bladder chose that moment to release, all over the floor.
39
Alice wasn’t sure why she decided to tell Paul the truth. Perhaps it was the fact that he was toasted and likely to forget anyway? Or perhaps it was the fact that she’d always wanted to tell someone? Perhaps it was the fact that they didn’t have anything else to talk about? But for some reason, as she was hooked up to an IV line feeding poison directly into her bloodstream, Alice started to talk.
“Remember,” she said, “when I decided I wanted to be a therapist?”
“Rings a bell,” Paul said, though she suspected it didn’t. The truth was, it was just one in a line of professions that she’d been certain were the career for her. Journalist, PR professional, nanny. Back then, everyone told her she was a “people person.” So why not help people, she’d thought, and found herself a job as a receptionist at a psychology clinic, to see what it was all about.
Alice’s new boss, Dr. Sanders, was in his mid-forties. Good-looking, for an oldie, with an air of authority that Alice had never encountered before. It hadn’t taken Alice long to realize that Dr. Sanders was a superstar. He was revered all over the country for expertise in adolescent psychology—he had published two books on the subject and was a regular on TV as a consulting psychologist. The phones rang hot, wanting him to give keynote presentations at conferences or seminars. Clients came out of his office smiling—kids who, Alice knew, had suffered sexual assaults, loss of parents, debilitating mental illnesses. Parents phoned up daily, so desperate for a session with him they were willing to wait a year for any appointment.
Alice worked hard for Dr. Sanders. He was an old-school kind of boss, never made his own coffee, never typed up his own notes. Everyone in the office called him “Dr. Sanders.” He commanded a certain respect.
Alice wasn’t sure when she started trying to impress him, but it didn’t take long before she started going above and beyond the call of duty of a receptionist. Once, after he mentioned he liked his coffee from a certain coffeehouse on the other side of town, she made a special trip on a Saturday to pick up a jar for the office. She’d work Saturday morning if he asked her to, because the part-timers, according to him, had no idea what they were doing. It was addictive, the way he looked at her. That look of gratitude when she’d fielded a call for him—making elaborate excuses when his mother, aunt, or sister called. No wife ever called, at least not when Alice answered. He didn’t talk about personal things at work, but Alice noticed he didn’t wear a ring.
She did think about him sometimes. It wasn’t that she had a crush on him, exactly—he was too old for that. But occasionally, she wondered what it would be like to be with him. It was like wondering what it would be like to be a housewife in the 1800s—she was fairly certain she wouldn’t like it, but she wondered all the same. It was his calm, powerful nature, she supposed, that got her wondering.
One night, right as Alice was leaving the office for the evening, he called. He’d headed home an hour or so earlier to prepare for an interstate conference the next day and had left some documents at the office. It was too late to book a courier.
“Would you like me to drop them to you?” she’d said.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he said. He always said things like that.
“I insist,” she assured him. “I’m on my way.”
The truth was, she was being nosy. Someone like Dr. Sanders was bound to have a fabulous house. And Alice was naturally curious.
He was on the phone when he answered the door and he ushered her inside. Alice hadn’t expected to be invited in and she felt a little thrill as she stepped across the threshold into the vast home. She followed him across a parquet floor into a paneled living room, glancing around wildly to check the place out. He gestured for her to sit, then wandered off, the phone still pressed to his ear. Alice glanced at the open bottle of red wine on the table. There were two glasses there, one of them clean. Was it for her? Surely not. Maybe he was expecting company? A date?
“Sorry about that,” he said a moment later, putting his phone onto the coffee table. He looked at the untouched glass, then at her. “You’re not having a drink?”
“Oh, I … I wasn’t sure it was for me,” she said, suddenly self-conscious.
“Who else would it be for?” he said.
Alice shrugged as he picked up the bottle. For the next few moments the glug of wine leaving the bottle was deafening in the silence, and it might have been the sheer awkwardness of it but Alice felt a sudden urge to flee.
“Can I ask you something, Alice?” Dr. Sanders asked, sitting down next to her and handing her the glass. He twisted his body to face hers, his elbow resting casually against the cushions.
“Uh … sure.”
“Do you enjoy working for me?”
“Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Of course. It’s a great job.”
“What do you see for the future?�
�
Suddenly Alice understood. It was a performance review, of sorts. The realization relaxed her a little.
“Well, since you’ve brought it up,” she said, “I’ve been thinking more and more that I might like to become a therapist.”
He smiled. “I think you’d make a wonderful therapist. But I was actually asking what you see for the future personally, not professionally.”
“Oh.” She felt suddenly on guard again. She didn’t expect to have this kind of discussion with Dr. Sanders. “Well, you know … I hope I’ll get married one day. Have children.”
“The usual.”
“It’s not very original, I guess,” she admitted.
“Perhaps not. But I suspect there’s a reason everyone wants to do it.”
The silence stretched on. Alice took a gulp of wine. She waited for Dr. Sanders to say something, but he didn’t. His expression was unfamiliar, and a little unsettling.
“What about you?” she asked finally. “Would you like to have a family … or, I mean, do you already have one?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m hoping I’ll be a late starter. I’d like to have a family one day, very much. I just have to meet the right woman.”
They’d edged into strange territory now, and Alice’s urge to flee intensified. So when Dr. Sanders leaned forward and took her glass to put it on the coffee table, Alice felt relieved. She assumed that he was going to thank her again for coming and wish her good night. But then she saw something different in his eyes. She only had a second to register it, before he touched her face and pressed his lips—all dry and whiskery and passionless—up against hers.
She reared back. “Whoa!” She didn’t know what else to say. The horror must have been evident on her face.
Dr. Sanders remained silent. But his face, Alice noticed, had changed. His eyes grew narrow. His lip curled. Alice should have stood then, but his hands were still on her face. Were they gripping slightly tighter than before? Whatever it was, Alice felt like something had changed. It was like she’d been … pinned in place.
“I should go,” she said, but there was uncertainty in her voice. She had an instinct to make a run for it, but it was too ridiculous. She didn’t need to run from Dr. Sanders. She’d look like an idiot.
His face was still mean. “Why did you come here?” he said quietly.
Alice tried to remember. It took far too long to draw up the memory. “I … to drop off your documents.”
“No,” he said. “Why did you come here?”
Something about the way he asked made her question herself. Had she come here for another reason?
“I … I don’t know,” she said helplessly.
“Yes, you do.” His grip tightened on her jaw. “You do.”
The next thing she knew, Alice was on the floor, trapped by his weight. He let go of her face and took her two hands in his one, holding them high above her head. “Dr. Sanders,” she rasped. “Please.”
It was nonsensical, but she was still holding on to one last shred of hope that it was some kind of joke. It was cleared up when he hit her, once, across the face.
“You know why you came here,” he said, his voice different somehow.
She started to cry. “Please,” she said, her voice no more than a breath. “No.”
There was a strange absence to his eyes. As he wrenched up her skirt she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t summon the breath.
Afterward he seemed, not apologetic exactly, but concerned. He handed her her underwear. She was still wearing the rest of her clothes, though her shirt and bra had been pushed up to her neck and her skirt was around her waist. She tugged everything down. She was still wearing her shoes.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Dr. Sanders seemed interested in her response.
“Yes,” she said, the biggest lie of her life. “Can I … can I go?”
“Of course,” he said, moving out of the way. “See you at work.”
She saw something in his eyes then, and that’s when she realized how crazy he actually was. He actually expected that he would see her at work. But he didn’t.
Dr. Sanders never saw her again.
* * *
Paul, remarkably, was still awake when Alice finished recounting the tale. And he looked comfortingly horrified. “That fucking…” His face contorted. “I’ll kill him.”
“That’d be great.”
“Jesus,” he said. “I thought that the guy cheated on you or was married or something. Not that.”
The surprising part about it was that Dr. Sanders had pursued Alice. She’d assumed he’d be thrilled when she disappeared from his life—making it easier to pretend it never happened. But when she didn’t show up at work the next day, he’d called and left a message for her. And he continued to call for the next three days while he was out of town. Alice became so anxious about it, she’d got a new number. Then it occurred to her that he’d have her home address in the company records.
“I packed up my apartment, moved in with Mom and Dad,” she said.
“That was then?”
It had been a dark time. Her mom had just been diagnosed with cancer—and Alice had told them she was moving home to be closer to her. Her parents had thought it was out of the blue.
“What happened to the job?” her dad had asked.
“I quit,” she’d said. “You were right. It wasn’t for me.”
Her parents had been skeptical but they assumed, as Paul obviously had, that it was over a boy. A heartbreak. Something that she would recover from, given time.
For months Alice replayed the evening—and all the months leading up to it—on a loop, wondering what she might have done differently. Wondering what her role had been. And worrying that she would run into him. She worried so much she made herself sick. She gained weight. Her periods stopped.
Later than she should have, she realized why.
And then … her mother died. The funny thing was, if not for that she might have terminated the pregnancy. But there was something about losing her mother that made her want to hold onto the life she had inside her. It was almost as if her mother’s death had assured Zoe’s life.
A few months later when her great-gran needed a carer, it felt like the perfect solution. She could get out of San Francisco. She wouldn’t have to worry about running into Dr. Sanders whenever she left the house. She could start over, with her baby.
Which is exactly what she did.
40
David had made lunch reservations. It had been forever since he’d done that. He used to do it all the time in the early days, when the prospect of getting through the entire workday without seeing each other was simply too difficult. The funny thing was, until recently Kate had still found it hard getting through the day without David. Every night when she arrived home she automatically quickened her pace, already anticipating the sight of him—at the grill in shorts or helping Scarlett with her homework at the dining room table. Unfortunately it had been weeks since she’d felt this sort of anticipation. So when he’d suggested lunch, she’d been cautiously optimistic. Perhaps things were turning around? Maybe he’d even reconsidered things on the baby front?
She was putting on her coat before heading out to meet him when her phone started ringing. Actually, not her phone. Alice’s.
“Alice Stanhope’s phone, this is Kate speaking.”
“Oh uh … hello. This is Rosalie Hunt, Zoe’s school principal. May I speak to Alice?”
Kate hesitated. Alice was probably just getting into her first movie. She didn’t like the idea of disturbing her if she didn’t have to.
“I’m sorry, she’s not available right now. Can I help you?”
There was a short silence. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Kate Littleton. I’m a … family friend.”
“Well … this is a little awkward. I really do need Alice down at the school right away. It’s quite u
rgent.”
“Is it Zoe?” Kate asked. Her heart had quickened a little. “The reason I have Alice’s phone is in case anything came up about Zoe.”
“Well unfortunately something has come up. Zoe has had an … incident at school today. And she appears to have left the school premises.”
“She ran away?”
“We just can’t locate her right now. But if we don’t find her soon, we’ll have to contact the police. Is Alice able to come down?”
“Unfortunately not.” Kate looked at her watch. “Not for a few hours, at least.”
“I see. Well, is there someone else who can help? Anyone who knows Zoe, who might know where to find her? I’m afraid we’re a little bit stumped.”
Kate imagined Zoe’s horror if the police were involved. “I can come down,” she heard herself say.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved. “Come right to my office. I’ll see you soon.”
Kate had no idea where to find Zoe, but at least there’d be someone there waiting for her if she did turn up. The idea that no one would be there for the girl after her … incident, whatever it was, was just too much for Kate to bear.
Kate briefly considered telling Alice, but decided against it. She had at least two hours of chemo left and the last thing she needed was to be strapped to her chair worrying about her daughter that whole time. And who knew, maybe Kate could sort the whole thing out and she’d never have to know? She drove like a fiend to the school, parking illegally right out front.
Now she sat in the principal’s office.
“Thank you for coming down. I’m Rosalie Hunt.”
“What happened?” Kate asked.
“Zoe’s class had a debate this morning.”
“Zoe told me about it,” Kate said. “She was quite nervous.”
“Apparently so. She’s not typically one to take part in this sort of thing, so her teacher was thrilled that she volunteered for a big role. She appeared to be doing well with it, attending group meetings, and she turned in a stellar written portion. But once she got in front of the room, Zoe froze. Couldn’t find her words.” Rosalie exhaled, long and slow, through her nose. “It seems she had some sort of panic attack. And then, well, she … urinated on the floor.”
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