by Leah Konen
“You’re not going crazy,” I managed. “None of this is your fault. And you are my best friend,” I said, realizing even as I said it that it hardly was true; not anymore. My friendship with Ellie—something that had always been simple and good—was one of the many things Davis had taken from me, and I hated him for it. “I just . . .” I took a sip of my drink, desperate to calm myself down. The bubbles clung to the sides of the glass like soap, and the beer tasted bitter and flat.
“You live here now,” Ellie asked—or rather, stated. “This is where you’ve been all along, isn’t it? You were never in Seattle.”
I took another sip in lieu of answering.
“Where are you even staying?” she asked.
“Why?”
Her eyes widened. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry.” I scanned the room, my eyes landing on the exit. “It doesn’t matter where I’m staying, okay?”
Ellie tipped her glass back again, as if she were suddenly dying of thirst. “Why did you lie to me?”
I tore at the corner of my napkin. “Because it felt easier,” I said finally.
“Easier?” Ellie asked. “What does that even mean?”
I took her in, my onetime best friend, her questions bouncing around my brain like lotto balls, and in that moment, as fear ballooned within me, I made a snap decision. It was the only way. It was the only chance that she would protect me, that she wouldn’t go straight to him. “I didn’t want Davis coming up here, okay?”
“But why?” Ellie asked. “People break up. I know that. Why did it have to be like this?”
I tore off another piece of the napkin, letting it fall to the counter. I didn’t want to do it. Not here, not in front of Al, young and naive and maybe the one person on earth who seemed to actually think I had my life together. I didn’t want her to see me this way, understand what I’d come to. But I didn’t have a choice. This might be my only chance to stop Ellie from doing what I knew she’d immediately want to do. There was no turning back after this. But I’d been kidding myself if I ever thought there was a way to turn back. “I was scared.”
Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you were scared?”
Part of me felt for her. In a way, she was more naive even than my copper-haired waitress. Ellie wanted to believe the world was as she saw it. She didn’t want to be surprised.
But the other part of me? It wanted to lift up the hatch and slap her—hard—across the face. Between Ellie’s dad and her mom, she should know a thing or two about control. She should have seen it then; she should see it now. The writing was right there, on the wall, just waiting for her to take the time to read it.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” I said. My fork tore at the eggs, the hollandaise sauce already congealing; it looked, suddenly, like yellowed pus, the color of the bruise that had taken up residence on my cheek for so long. A reminder of all that had happened. All I’d tried so hard to put behind me.
“What?” Ellie asked, not unkindly. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. I can’t take it, this guessing, this trying to make sense of it.”
I took a sip of beer for courage. “I was scared Davis would hurt me,” I said.
Her eyebrows flew up, and she paused a moment before opening her mouth. “What do you mean, hurt you?”
I glanced to Al, willing her to move away, wipe the other end of the counter, take someone else’s order, then lowered my voice. “I . . .” I stammered. “Listen, I tried to leave him, but I couldn’t.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean you tried to leave?”
“He tracked me,” I said. “He’s been tracking me since I moved in with him. On my phone. With that stupid Nest camera. That’s why I changed my phone number. I didn’t have a choice.”
Ellie shook her head. “You can’t be serious. Davis would never do something like that. The camera was for break-ins. Jesus. You must have misunderstood.”
“Listen to yourself,” I said. “This is why I never told you.”
“It can’t be,” Ellie said, catching her breath as her eyes filled with tears. “If it was really like that, you would have . . . I would have . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if the rest of her sentence had gotten lost somewhere in a murky pool of misunderstanding and guilt.
I didn’t want to use it; it was insurance, for his eyes only. But now I knew I had to, if I really wanted her to believe me. There were no words that could compare to the image—besides, I barely trusted myself to get all the details out. I retrieved my phone, began to flick through photos.
“What are you doing?” Ellie asked, voice shaking with fear.
I found it in seconds. The one I’d taken, just in case. The one that would shatter her, like he’d shattered me.
I turned it so she could see it, and her jaw dropped, taking in my face, half covered in a dark purple bruise, my expression haunted, my world torn apart. Then she scooted her chair back and stood, steadying herself on the bar. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m sorry. I don’t, I just don’t understand. I can’t . . . I can’t do this.”
“Please, Ellie. Don’t tell Davis where I am. If you ever cared about me, if you still care about me, if our friendship means anything to you, keep this secret for me,” I said unsteadily. “I’m begging you.”
She stared at me for another moment, then forced a nod, her face ashen, her cheeks slicked with tears.
“Okay,” she said. “Jesus. Okay.”
Then she grabbed her things and left.
I looked back at the phone, at my bruise, at all the colors, and I was glad I had taken it. I was glad I would always have this to show.
“You okay?” Al asked, as soon as Ellie was gone.
I pushed a few bills her way, more than enough to cover the check, then stood before she could ask me any more questions.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
* * *
• • •
I didn’t notice the car behind me until I hit the windy ribbon of two-lane road, my second-to-last turn before I was home. I slowed down as I neared Shadow Creek Road, and the car slowed out of necessity. I paused at the stop sign a minute, as if checking my phone, but they didn’t go around me.
Holding my breath, I pulled out and turned. The car did, too.
I approached the farmhouse, then made a sharp turn into Vera and John’s driveway instead of going to mine. The car moved on without pause, and my breaths seemed to return, but now they came too fast.
I stumbled out, onto their driveway, making my way up to their porch as quickly as I possibly could.
John appeared at the door before Vera. “What happened? You look terrified.” I followed him into the house, my breathing labored, my eyes already half-wet.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked.
When I couldn’t get a word out, he called up the stairs to Vera, then took my arm and led me to the living room. We sat together, his hand never leaving my elbow. His concern was like a salve, but it wouldn’t fix this. Ellie had said she wouldn’t tell Davis, but I knew that promise would only last so long. This news, it would break her. And eventually, she would reach out to her brother, ask him to explain. Maybe it was a matter of hours or days or maybe it was a matter of weeks, but it would come out; I was sure of it. And I was sure of another thing, too. Davis would find a way to manipulate the situation, get her to tell him exactly where I was. I couldn’t sit around waiting for that to happen. I had to go—but I was afraid to go alone.
Vera was there in a matter of seconds, and she sat on my other side—they were my very own protective bookends. “God, Lucy,” she said. “Are you okay?”
My lips parted, but I couldn’t find the words.
“What happened?” John asked again, leaning forward.
I swallowed, my throat
tight. “I told you about Ellie.”
“That’s your ex’s sister,” John said. “Right?”
Vera interrupted. “Yes, and her best friend.”
John nodded, releasing my arm from his grasp. “Did she call you or email you or something?”
“I wish,” I said, shaking my head. “I ran into her.”
“Here in town?” Vera asked, jaw dropping. “Oh god, Lucy.”
John’s eyes caught hers, then returned to mine. “But he wasn’t with her, was he?”
“No,” I said. “At least, she said he wasn’t. She was in Woodstock on her own, getting a drink while her boyfriend did some work back where they were staying.”
“Shit,” John said, his eyebrows knitting tightly together. “Are you afraid she’s going to tell him?”
“Obviously she’s afraid of that,” Vera said.
He tugged at the cuff of the plaid shirt he always wore, not knowing what to say.
“It’s going to be okay,” Vera said. “It has to be okay. We’ll find a way.”
John nodded. “We’ll keep you safe.”
I dabbed at my eyes. They must know how naive, how pathetic their words sounded. Sometimes things weren’t okay. Life decided to ruin you. Or you were such a mess, you found a way to ruin yourself.
“What can we do, Lucy?” John asked. “How can we help?”
“How serious were you last night?” I asked, forcing confidence into my voice.
They exchanged a glance. “We were serious, Lucy,” Vera said, speaking for both of them. “We talked about it after you left. John’s come around. But we figured you weren’t.”
John cleared his throat. “I don’t want to mess up your life, too. Not after you’ve already been through so much.”
I closed my eyes, then opened them again. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some plot to toss about over drinks. It wasn’t even Van Gogh-ing. This could save us all. “We need to do this,” I said. “We need to do this right away.”
“But what about you?” Vera asked. “If the police interview you, and your name gets in the media—I know last night you said you’d try to avoid that, but what if you can’t?”
I paused, wondering what would happen when the police took my name, but I shook my head, trying to focus only on what I had to do—get out. “Davis will know soon enough,” I said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
In her eyes, understanding, but in John’s, reluctance. “That’s really what you want?” he asked. His voice was warm and soft, a blanket of protection. He cared about me—truly. They both did. “You’re not just doing it for us? I couldn’t handle it if you were only doing it for us.”
We’re the us now, I wanted to say.
“I’m not,” I said instead. “I’m doing it for me.”
“You’re sure?” Vera said. “You’re positive?”
I hesitated, racking my brain, wondering if there was another way, but what I could hardly say to her, though I felt it, deep in my heart, was that it didn’t much matter if there was another way. When I’d come up here, I’d only wanted protection, but then I’d found the two of them. Now I wanted both—safety and family—and even if we were a cobbled-together one at best, ours was a family I’d come to adore.
I wanted us like this, together, off the grid, away from Davis—a trio, however strange.
“I’m doing it for me,” I repeated. “Believe me, I’m sure.”
Vera stood, began to pace. “We’d need to go on a practice hike, you know, to get the lay of the land. This week.”
I shook my head. “If we have to practice, it’s got to be tomorrow. Davis could turn up any moment.”
“What?” Vera asked. “We don’t want to rush and mess it all up. I don’t even have a car for John.”
“You said last night you knew where to get one.”
“Yeah . . . but . . .” Vera stammered.
“Then you’ll have to do that tomorrow, too. You have to try, at least. I can’t stay here, just waiting for Davis to find me. If he does, Christ, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
They stared at me in horror, and for a moment, I wondered if it all had been a joke. If they had never been serious about any of this. I felt it then, in the marrow of my bones, that I’d already lost them. That I was alone. Again.
Then they exchanged a look. Vera cleared her throat.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
SIXTEEN
We arrived at the trailhead for a dress rehearsal just after ten a.m.
It was Halloween, funny enough, a good day to cause mischief, to kick off the sort of macabre plan that really should be relegated to books and movies.
John found a spot in the back of the parking lot, which was fuller than it had been last time. Must be people up from the city to see the leaves, I thought. I imagined Ellie, somewhere nearby. I tried not to imagine Davis.
I zipped up my hoodie as we got out of the truck. The weather had changed in a matter of twenty-four hours. Our first real cold snap had arrived during the night, and the reprieve we’d had, the cricket-chorus nights in the gazebo, were like a faraway dream.
At the entrance, Vera grabbed the sign-in clipboard and immediately began riffling through it. Taking charge, even though John was disappearing, not her. Perhaps women were naturally better at planning how to disappear; perhaps they had more reasons.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep warm.
Her eyes flitted to me briefly before returning to the clipboard, glancing over names. “We need to know what times are busiest,” Vera said, without looking up. “Run into someone hiking at the same pace as us, and the whole thing won’t work. Mornings look pretty empty,” she added. “At least during the week. It picks up around noon.” She flipped another page. “We should go in the early evening, so there’s not too long for John to wait before dark. On Fridays,” she continued, “there seem to be a lot of people in early, but it drops off in the afternoon.”
“That’s just the sign-in, though,” John said, his hand tracing down the sheet. “This hike’s out and back, so people will be coming down as we’re going up.” He pointed to a cluster of names. “Five people signed in an hour ago. We’ll likely run into them.”
“Right,” Vera said. “We want to run into, maybe, one person. So ideally, we need to arrive just as people are finishing up, but not so late that no one will be here.” She perused the sheets again. “Practically no one goes on Wednesdays,” she said. “But then no one will see us. Mondays are pretty dead, but there are still some hikers—long weekends and all. I don’t see more than seven or eight people all day on the last two Mondays, in the afternoon.”
“So Monday,” John said.
Vera hesitated, mentally calculating whether she could get it all together by then. She looked to me. “Is that okay with you?”
Two days. I could hold out two days. I prayed Ellie could, too. That she’d meant what she’d said when she weakly said okay to my pathetic plea.
I nodded. “Monday it is.”
The hike was just as strenuous as the first time, and I was breathless when we reached the place where the girl had fallen. I peered over the edge, eyeing the water rushing beneath, and I imagined John, his body dashed against the rocks in the middle, wrenched away to who knew where. It was fantasy, fiction—something that would never actually happen, but I could see it playing out in front of me.
“It’s okay to picture it,” Vera said, leaning in close.
I jumped.
“I know it’s morbid,” she went on, “but if we can see it in our mind’s eye, we’ll be so much more likely to believe it when we have to tell the police.”
“Hey,” John said. “Please don’t get too used to the idea of my death.”
Vera turned on her heel, her voice stern. �
�I need you to take this seriously.”
“I am.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not kidding, John.”
He rocked back and forth on his heels, humbled as a child who’d misbehaved. “I know. It just got a little real, I guess. But I promise, I am taking this seriously. I have to.”
“Yeah,” Vera said. “You of all people should know that you do.”
The plan was to drop his camera off the edge, leave his backpack and water bottle behind (minus a small bag full of emergency items: protein bars, an extra layer, a long-life flashlight, a portable charger for his phone, a new SIM card so his phone couldn’t be traced), and head off the trail. He’d make his way the four miles toward the cabin. There he’d shave his beard and grab a baseball cap, some money, a few items of clothing that the police would never realize were missing, and the car. Then, around midnight or sometime thereafter, he’d drive until he got far enough away to stop at a seedy motel that took cash. Once he was settled, once Vera and I had given our statements, he’d call and tell Vera exactly where he’d wound up. I would leave town as quietly as possible to join him. The police would have my number, in case they needed to ask me any follow-up questions, and if they asked me why I’d left, I could always tell them I had an ex who’d found me, much as I didn’t want to. Most important, I would be away from Woodstock. Away from Davis.
Was it foolproof? Not exactly. But it was the only way for me to stay with them.
We walked on until we were clear of the trail, until we found a grove of trees and a bluestone slab where John could settle in, should he need to wait out any rain. It was completely covered, impossible to see from even a few feet away—John was confident he wouldn’t be detected.
We retraced our steps back to the clearing, then choreographed every move, so as to limit the lies Vera and I would have to tell. John would hike in front, I would be second, with Vera lagging behind. Just before we reached the cliff, he would tell us he was going ahead to get some photos, and after a few minutes, I would follow.