I got down on my hands and knees and peered beneath the ruffled bed skirt. There, behind a box of Ally’s old sweaters, was Barney. “What are you doing under there?” I asked. I stroked his fur. His body was cool and still.
I got down on my stomach and reached underneath the bed with both hands. He didn’t stir when I pulled him out, or when I laid him on the comforter, or when I pressed my cheek against the soft fur on his belly. His eyes were open but the spark in them was gone, and they looked like two dull black beads pressed into his skull.
He must have been dead at least a day. Maybe more.
I don’t know how long I sat on the floor cradling his head in my hands. I didn’t cry, I remember that. I’d loved him, but I didn’t have any tears left. Poor Barney. He’d been a good cat and deserved better. He shouldn’t have had to die all alone in this big house.
He was nearly seventeen. He’d died of old age, I was sure. What I was less sure about was how he’d ended up in Ally’s room when the door was shut tight.
I didn’t tell anyone, but I started locking the doors after that.
The hut fell into shadow. The two men looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, his body blocking out the sun. He could smell the fear on them before he set foot inside.
—This your place?
—None of your business.
—I’m going to ask you one more time.
They stared at the Man. He noticed that the little one’s hands had started to shake.
—Yeah, it’s ours.
They were lying, but he didn’t care. That wasn’t his business.
—You seen anyone around here? A woman?
The little one smiled, showing a row of rotting, yellowed teeth. The Man looked away. He hated the sight of poor hygiene.
—Sure we did. Bunch of supermodels were here. You just missed them.
The big one was quiet. He had a tin of beans in one hand and a fork in the other, and up until then he’d kept his eyes on his dinner. Now he glared at the little one.
—Shut your mouth, Bill.
The Man took a step toward them and saw the little one flinch. All mouth, he thought.
—Listen to your friend, Bill. Now, have either of you seen a woman around here?
The big one stuck his fork into the beans, put the tin down on the ground, and stood up. The Man took another step forward.
—Sit back down.
The big one raised his hands.
—I don’t want no trouble.
—Then sit back down.
The big one picked up the can of beans and sat down.
—Somebody was in here. Not sure if it was a man or a woman, but they took some stuff.
The Man’s eyes didn’t waver.
—What kind of stuff?
—Canned goods. Little hunting knife. Nothing big.
The little one shifted in his chair and made a noise. A kind of laugh-grunt. The Man turned his gaze on him.
—You got something you want to say?
—Son of a bitch stole my rifle.
The big one ran a hand across his face.
—Bill.
The Man looked back at the big one.
—Now, why wouldn’t you want to tell me about the rifle?
The big one shrugged, but the Man could see that he was sweating.
—Don’t see why it’s any of your business. Wasn’t your rifle.
The Man took another step forward and leaned down so he was eye level with the big one. He was close enough to smell the baked beans on his breath along with something yeasty and sour.
—It’s not your place to tell me what is and isn’t my business.
Silence. The big one closed his eyes.
—There were a few hairs on the floor. Long ones. I saw them when we were clearing up the mess.
—What color?
—Yellow.
—You mean blond?
The little one let out a peal of nervous laughter, and the Man clenched his fist.
—Sure. Blond.
—Anything else?
The two of them shook their heads. The Man pictured, briefly, reaching out and knocking their two skulls together. Bone against bone.
—Don’t think so.
The Man straightened up. The big one sagged with relief.
—If you think of anything else, give me a call.
He held out a card with a number printed on it in thick black type.
The little one took it. He read it and frowned.
—There’s no name here. What are we supposed to call you?
The Man reached out and gripped the little one by the neck. Just one squeeze, he thought. One squeeze and it would be over. But then he’d have to take care of the big one, and then he’d have a mess to clean up. The boss said no mess. He let go. The little one rubbed at his throat.
—Nothing. You’re not supposed to call me anything.
He turned and walked out and the sunlight filled the space, dazzling the two he left behind.
Allison
I tug off my sneakers and place my toes tentatively into the lake. It’s cold but it feels good.
I peel off my clothes and toss them on the bank. The breeze rustles the hairs on the back of my neck, my thighs, my calves. It feels strange to be naked out in the open, and I cover my breasts, suddenly shy.
I wade through a patch of tall reeds, feeling them tickle as I pass, and then with one deep breath, I dive in.
The cold knocks the wind out of me. I surface spluttering, my breath coming in ragged gasps before my body numbs itself to the temperature. I dip my head under and try to run my hands through my hair but my fingers catch in the snarls. Still, it feels good to be in the water, and I tilt my head back and let myself go under again.
The cups rattled gently in their saucers as the maid placed them on the table. “Sugar?” Amanda asked, already heaping a teaspoon into the cup and stirring it with a small silver spoon.
“Yes, thank you.” I took a sip and suppressed a wince. The coffee was weak and achingly sweet, nothing like how I would normally take it. I remembered the coffee maker in my mother’s kitchen, the way she would spoon heaping tablespoons of coffee grounds into the filter, the steady drip of the machine, the smell of dark roast filling the air. I took another sip and placed the cup down on the saucer. The taste was something I’d get used to, just like I had the rest of it.
“How are the wedding plans?” she asked, and then reached out and picked up a leather-bound diary without waiting for an answer. “I’ve spoken to the people at Torrey Pines,” she said, flicking through the pages. “They can do the seventeenth, so I told them to hold it for us.” She flashed us a bright smile. “Of course, it’s your choice. I don’t want to step on any toes.”
A little fissure of panic ran through me. We hadn’t discussed venues yet. We hadn’t discussed anything, really, other than the occasional fantasy about running away to some tropical island and eloping. Now I realized how ridiculous that had been. Of course this was going to be Amanda’s wedding. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought otherwise.
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect, Mom.” Ben caught my eye and winked, and I felt myself relax. The wedding didn’t matter. Let her plan the whole thing, I didn’t care. I had him.
David walked in, the newspaper tucked under his arm, and sat down at the table. “Sorry I’m late.” He took a sip from the cup Amanda handed to him and frowned. “Why the hell can’t anyone make a decent cup of coffee in this house?”
“We were just discussing plans for the wedding,” Amanda said. “We’ve decided on Torrey Pines.”
“Wonderful,” he said distractedly. “Ben, could I have a word with you?”
Amanda and I watched the two men leave the room and smiled at each other politely. “Have you thought about your dress? I know this fantastic woman in Sabre Springs who designs the most incredible bespoke gowns . . .”
I could hear the rumble of their voices in the room next door. Amanda kept talkin
g. She had the names of the best florist, the best caterer, the best wedding planner. I nodded along without really listening. The voices in the next room were louder now, the cadence more halted. They were arguing. I strained to catch the words but they were lost between the vaulted ceilings and thick walls of the house. I agreed to rack of lamb for the main course, and that figs wrapped in prosciutto would make an elegant hors d’oeuvre. There was the thud of someone’s fist coming down on a table and we both jumped.
The door opened and Ben walked in and sat down. His father wasn’t with him. There were faint beads of sweat around his hairline, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “So,” he said, plastering a smile onto his face, “have you two planned the entire wedding since I’ve been gone?”
“Almost!” Amanda trilled. “Allison is going to be the most beautiful bride, isn’t she?”
Ben reached out and took my hand. “Absolutely.” His palm was clammy as he squeezed my hand a little too hard. “She’ll be a vision.”
In the car ride home, I tried to ask him what he’d talked about with his father, but he brushed it off. “Nothing,” he said, reaching over and running a thumb across my cheek. “Just family stuff.” But I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch again.
The sores that cover my body sting. I scrub at the dirt encrusted on my shoulders, my shins, between my toes. I rub with the heel of my palm, scrape with what is left of my fingernails, but the dirt still won’t budge. I need soap, or a hot shower, or both. Eventually I give up. I slip back underwater, open my eyes, and see only a murky green, the sun a faint white glow above.
I think of all the hours I spent making myself pretty. The mani-pedis and cuts and blowdries and laser hair removals and rejuvenating facials. The foils and the steams and the juice cleanses. I wanted to be coveted and admired and adored, like a pampered little cat, or a shiny trinket in a shopwindow. I wanted everyone to look at me, and for the most part, everyone did. Sometimes too much.
And now here I am, stripped down, filthy, covered in bites and scratches and wounds. Unrecognizable. I think of myself sloughing off another layer of skin, revealing the tender flesh underneath. I’ll be brand new after this. I’ll be someone else completely.
I stare up at the sky and watch the clouds float past above. The world is almost big enough to make me forget what led me to this place, the moment that shattered my perfect glass-encased world and sent me spiraling into the splinters.
Almost, but not quite.
Maggie
There was a package waiting on the doorstep when I got back from the grocery store. It was addressed to me, and the return address was from Colorado.
I hurried into the kitchen, dumped the grocery bags on the countertop, and sliced the box open with a pair of scissors from the drawer. Inside was a padded envelope and a typed note addressed to me.
Dear Mrs. Carpenter,
Enclosed are the personal effects of Allison Carpenter retrieved from the site of the noncommercial plane crash that occurred on July 8, 2018. These items have been processed and cleared for release into your custody.
On behalf of the Central Regional Office of the NTSB, please accept our condolences.
Best wishes,
Bruce Logan
Case Officer
National Transportation Safety Board
I tore open the envelope and shook it. A thin gold chain snaked out and spooled onto the table.
I raised a hand to my heart and stared at it. It was a little tarnished now, sure, and the thin gold locket had been dented, but there was no mistaking it. It was the same necklace that Charles had hung around her neck a few years earlier.
I plucked it off the table and held it up to the light. I flicked open the locket, and the familiar photograph of me and Charles stared back. I flipped it over and read the inscription. God protect him as he travels, by air or land or sea, keep him safe and guide him, wherever he may be.
I threaded the chain around my neck and fastened the clasp.
Maybe one day I’d have to let go, but right then, I was going to keep fighting.
Allison
I should go. I’ve stayed here for too long now, and the light will start to fade soon. I stare out across the lake. The light catches on the surface and sparkles like fireflies.
“Excuse me? Excuse me, Miss Carpenter?” I turned to see the salon receptionist hurrying toward me, blond ponytail bouncing as she ran. “Someone dropped this off for you when you were inside.” She held a small white envelope in her french-manicured hand.
My name was written across the front in neat handwriting. I ripped it open and a slip of paper slid out into my hand.
WE NEED TO TALK.
Underneath was a phone number, but no name.
I caught the receptionist by the arm. “Who gave you this?”
The receptionist looked stricken. “I jumped off the desk for two seconds to get more towels and it was there when I got back. Sorry. Is it something important?”
I forced a smile. A metallic taste formed at the back of my throat. “No, not really. Thanks, Kelly.” I folded the piece of paper and slid it into the pocket of my bag before pushing my way out the door and into the bright sunshine.
I was meant to have lunch with Liz, but I tapped out an excuse on my phone and hit Send. She was a friend, but she didn’t know anything about my past, and I couldn’t afford to let anything slip, even to her. I was too rattled to sit down and make nice over Cobb salads and too much Chablis when my old life was knocking at the door.
I was sure it was him. I could still picture his hands with their thick fingers reaching across and grabbing the steering wheel, and the flash of blue lights in the rearview mirror. The pit of my stomach felt heavy and sour. “Just leave the talking to me.” That’s what he’d said when we were waiting for the officer to approach, but I could tell by his voice that he was terrified. He’d been angry afterward and told me that I owed him. He’d claimed his payback again and again, but it was never enough. He always felt entitled to more.
I wondered how he’d tracked me down. I’d made sure not to leave a forwarding address when I left Tara’s, and I wasn’t listed on the deed or the bills for the house in Bird Rock. Ben caught a glimpse of the missed calls on my phone one morning and asked who was calling me in the middle of the night. “Have you got something to tell me?” he’d teased. “A secret boyfriend or something?” I’d pretended it was a wrong number and blocked it the next day.
But now, it looked like he had found me, and he wanted to talk.
I pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes and set off west, toward the beach. I needed the air. I chose a table at an obscure café on the south shore and ordered an iced tea, my hands shaking as I lifted the straw to my lips. It was a beautiful day—seventy-two and sunny, just like always—and the beach was filled with tourists taking pictures of the bright blue sea. There were people like me, too, rich women idling the day away while their husbands worked in one of the high-rises that peppered the skyline.
There were old versions of me, too, if you knew what to look for: women whose jewelry was expensive but whose clothes were cheap, whose skin was a shade too pale from days spent sleeping the sunlight away, whose nails were just a little bit too long to be respectable, a little too red.
The line between the two was so thin sometimes, it hardly seemed there at all. Squint and you’d miss it. Did women from both tribes look at me and see one of their own? Or was I an outsider to both of them now?
I pulled the scrap of paper out of my bag and stared at it until the numbers swam. Someone had followed me to the salon and waited until the receptionist left to slip the note onto the desk. It was calculated, deliberate. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
If Ben found out the truth about my old life—the whole truth, not just being a waitress at some seedy bar and living in that crappy apartment—it would be over. How could he love someone like that? I could conjure up the disgust on his face, the disappointment, the
hurt. I would no longer be the woman he loved. I would be something else, something cheap and monstrous. An embarrassment.
I pushed the image out of my head. He wasn’t going to find out. I’d make sure of it.
I finished my iced tea, gathered my bag, and tossed the scrap into the trash on my way out.
Whoever was looking for me could keep looking. I was on the other side now, and I wasn’t going back.
Maggie
I made it to Bowdoin in record time. The campus was still in its summer slumber, and I passed only a few people on my way to the library. Doug was seated on his perch at security and sent me through with a wave and a smile.
Entering the cool hush of the library felt like walking into a sanctuary. Here was calm and quiet and order. Here were answers for me to find.
I found Barbara and asked her to set me up on the same computer. The man from the other day, Tony, came and sat down shortly after I arrived, another stack of books in front of him. He smiled and gave me a wave when he caught my eye.
I looked up the record of Ally’s plane crash to see if there had been any updates. Still no body. Still no definitive cause for the crash. Of course I knew that Jim would’ve told me if anything had changed, but I wanted to see for myself.
Next I looked up the address of the house in Bird Rock to see if it was on the market. Sure enough, there was a listing for it on the website of a fancy-looking Realtor. “Live the high life and surround yourself in luxury in this modern and spacious bungalow. Located in the heart of Bird Rock and only seconds from Windansea Beach, this house offers high-end finishes and breathtaking sea views.” The list price was north of $3 million.
I tried tracking down a few more leads but came up empty handed. After an hour of fruitless searches and dead ends, I sat back from the computer and folded my arms across my chest. I’d hit a wall.
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