by Ellie Monago
But the woman in front of me right now, the woman who’s been coming here every day to support me, she’s truly my friend. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. She’s got nothing to hide.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. I peer down at Sadie, who has fallen asleep. Slowly and carefully, I transfer her back to the Plexiglas cube. “She drank my milk this morning.”
“Awesome!”
“It really was. It’s like, she’s becoming herself again. For a while there, she just disappeared. She was just a body. But now it’s like her spirit has flown back in. Her soul. Not that I’m religious or anything.”
“I get what you mean.”
I feel like she does, that’s the thing.
I should be in a great mood. Sadie’s getting better. Soon, she should be coming home. Only I know, in my heart, that the AV should not be our home.
Doug feels differently, and we had an argument behind the curtain, conducted entirely in heated whispers. He told me we shouldn’t make any rash decisions, that lots of people would kill to be where we are. I told him that maybe someone tried to—that maybe it’s not a coincidence that Sadie got so sick, after we’ve been getting all those notes. That’s when he told me I was being crazy. And that’s when I told him that he might want to stay there for more than the school system, that maybe he wants to stay for the women. He stormed out.
But is it really so crazy? I have someone here who might know.
“There’s something I need to get off my chest,” I say. “Ever since the block party, I’ve been getting these notes.”
“What kind of notes?”
“The first one said, ‘That wasn’t very neighborly of you.’”
“Do you know what they were talking about?”
I shake my head. “They just kept coming. They were more antagonistic and personal and threatening. Like someone had a vendetta against me. Doug wants to believe they’re harmless, like a prank or something.”
She’s nodding slowly. I can’t tell if she’s surprised.
“Do you know anything about the letters? Who might have written them?”
She shakes her head.
“Have you heard anything? Anyone who has a problem with me?”
Another headshake.
“I saved the notes,” I say. “I can show you if you want.”
“No, I believe you. I’m just thinking . . .”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m just thinking how incredibly awful that must have been for you. You’re a new mom, in your new neighborhood, and someone’s targeting you.”
My eyes tear up. She gets it, when my own husband doesn’t. “It has been awful.”
“And scary. I mean, you don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“Do you have any reason to think that any of our neighbors are dangerous or violent?”
“No. No reason.”
But she doesn’t sound as sure as I would have hoped. She’s taking me seriously, and that’s actually even scarier.
“Sadie’s a lot better,” I say, looking around, wanting to knock on wood but realizing we’re surrounded by metal, “but they still don’t know what landed her here. By process of elimination, they’re assuming it’s a virus, but they don’t know which one or how she picked it up.”
“The world’s a germy place.”
“Sadie had never been sick before. Then we go away for a few nights and when we come back, bam.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Maybe someone snuck into our house while we were away and did something. Like they contaminated her crib sheet or her changing table, something like that.” I pause. “I know how it sounds, but it’s not just notes. A package went missing, and something got slipped in my drink at girls’ night; I’m sure of it. And now this. We’re dealing with a psychopath here.”
The more I say it out loud, the more plausible it seems. Maybe that’s in part because of her expression. She’s really considering the possibility. And she’s a denizen of the AV. She knows those people way better than I do.
“What would you do if it were your daughter?” I say.
“I don’t know . . .”
“I can see that you do know.”
She meets my eyes. “I wouldn’t go back to that house.”
“Because Sadie’s life is worth more than a house, right? How can Doug not see that?”
“He must not believe that Sadie’s in danger.”
“What does he know that I don’t?”
“Or what do you know that he doesn’t?” She gives me a meaningful look. “About the world we live in. Maybe he’s the naive one.”
“Maybe he is.”
I’m getting an eerie feeling. Like she gets me a little too much.
“Listen,” she says, “you’re a mother. If you need to protect your daughter, you’ll find a way.”
Leave my husband, is that what she’s saying? Give up on the only family I’ve known?
“Can I tell you something, and I think in your heart, you’ll know it’s true?”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“There might be another reason Doug doesn’t want to move. I think there’s something going on between him and Andie.”
“What makes you think that?” I ask. She’s echoing my own suspicions from earlier, when I saw Andie and had this feeling like something wasn’t right. The question I’d been posing for weeks—why is she pursuing me?—now has an answer. She was pursuing Doug.
“It started on girls’ night out.”
“The first one? Or the second?” But I can answer my own question. “The second, while I was passed out.”
“Yes.”
“Andie’s more his type,” I say.
“More his family’s type, you mean?”
“Why, what did you see?”
“They were getting on like gangbusters in the waiting room. They practically adopted her.”
He’s got all the money. His name’s on the deed. He’s in control. I’m in debt, and I haven’t even returned to work yet. I’m not getting paid while I’m on leave.
I’m trapped.
But I can’t leap to conclusions. Just because Andie came in here and brought me body wash and body lotion that made me smell like her . . . just because she talked like she knew my husband’s emotions better than I did . . . just because my alarm bells were ringing, telling me that this woman could even be the one writing the notes because she wants me out of the picture and she wants my husband . . .
I can’t jump to conclusions. I have to talk to Doug. But he’s been avoiding me, like a man with something to hide.
“I thought I was giving Sadie such a good family,” I say. “But maybe I never really knew what a family was.”
CHAPTER 28
ELLEN
On my drive home, I pass by the park. I’ve always liked that place, even before it got so ridiculously over-the-top fancy. I liked when it was just swings, a slide, and a climbing structure on top of concrete rather than wood chips and mats, back before everyone was so afraid of lawsuits and children’s boredom. It makes me remember the early days of motherhood, when it was all promise and expectation.
Really, it couldn’t have gone better today. Kat seemed to just take my word that Doug was having an affair. She might never come back to that house of hers. Who names their house Crayola, anyway? She’ll be better off without that guy. I’ve done her a favor.
But I’m not happy, not at all.
She used the word psychopath, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I have crossed lines no normal person would cross, because she crossed all sorts of lines. She caused me so much pain. But what if she’s right, and I really am a psychopath?
I’m just stressed out, that’s all. Operation Kat has taken over my life. Maybe it’s that I’ve been missing so much of my own family. I know I can be a better mother than I’ve been lately—so consumed by my own history, with the latent hatred of Katrina roaring b
ack to life. Since she moved in, I’ve been fighting the memories. The nightmares have returned. Then there’s the anger I’d tried so hard to extinguish. That’s why I know I need to get Kat out of the AV. I need to be the best mother I can. But sometimes I feel like I’m just using Kat as a reason to avoid things at home, that she’s a convenient excuse for the mess I’ve made of my own life.
Soon, this will all be over. I’ll be free of Katrina, and my past will be back where it belongs. I’m doing this for my family, for their future as much as my own.
The ketamine wasn’t my idea or my preference, but it has worked in my favor. It’s primed her to believe something as preposterous as someone poisoning her daughter. I don’t think she’s even suspected that it might be more than one person, that multiple people are trying to drive her out.
Kat might not have been with Wyatt under normal circumstances, but it was shockingly easy to get her to compromise herself, given how compromised she was. All we had to do was get her and Wyatt outside and move out of the way. She practically pounced on him. No sex drive, my ass. She just isn’t driven toward Doug. And Wyatt showing up that night, already drunk, and he and Yolanda were clearly having words that ended with her yanking her arm away . . . that was all too easy, too. Everyone knows that when Wyatt gets tired of dealing with Yolanda, he rushes into other women’s arms temporarily, even though he’s going to get an earful when he gets home. Wyatt seems to have taken the idea that it’s better to seek forgiveness than permission to heart.
While the ketamine wasn’t my idea, the pictures were. And sending them to Yolanda from Kat’s phone had, I thought, been a stroke of genius. That way, it would look like Kat had opted in the second she had the chance, and that she wanted to rub Yolanda’s nose in it.
It had been my insurance policy: if the openness didn’t freak Kat out enough to make her want to leave, then Yolanda telling everyone what Kat had done and the resulting ostracism would. Kat would watch her shiny new future go up in smoke.
Instead, I never heard a peep. Everyone could tell that Yolanda didn’t like the new girl anymore, but she wouldn’t say why. My suspicion is that she didn’t want the humiliation, and that she has something else in mind for those pictures, like keeping Wyatt right where she wants him, doing penance. Maybe it’ll even give her the leverage she needs to finally opt out.
I’m not the biggest fan of Yolanda, with her myriad insecurities, but I do care about Wyatt, and I’m sorry that he’s become collateral damage.
Lately, I’m just feeling so alone. When this started, I felt like I had support, but it’s been dwindling. It could be an attack of conscience or a loss of faith. All I know is, there’s been more distance since Sadie got sick.
Or he might have problems of his own, but I can’t be sure. He doesn’t burden me with things like that.
I’ve just got this feeling like things are spiraling and soon it might be beyond any of our control.
CHAPTER 29
KAT
I just keep picturing them together. Andie and Doug. Thinking how much better she is than me, in all ways. I can’t compete.
It’s late at night, and Doug is out in the waiting room. I’m practically delirious from the days of sleep deprivation and the stress and strain of trying to figure out what’s really happening in the AV, who’s after me, who’s after him. I still haven’t confronted him, though my imagination is running wild.
It’s like texting is a direct link to my subconscious.
Maybe we should opt in, I write. Maybe that would solve all our problems. Then Doug can sow his oats and my family stays intact.
She texts back, Are those really all your problems?
There’s the notes. There’s the ketamine. There’s the possible poisoning of my child. But if Doug and I were just stronger, if we were back to being ourselves, we could survive anything. We could figure this out together. Maybe leaving Crayola isn’t the only way. Together, we could find the culprit and make it all stop.
We’ve always been a team. I can’t let the AV tear us apart. That’s just what whoever wrote those notes wants. They want me to doubt my husband, my marriage, and my sanity.
How do you know that Doug and Andie are together? Who told you?
It’s all over the block. Everyone knows. It started the same night you kissed Wyatt.
So that’s all over the block, too?
Yes.
Does Doug know everything? I mean, does he know I kissed Wyatt?
That I don’t know. But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say yes.
So we cheated the same night. But I was drugged. What’s his excuse? Was it revenge, because Andie told him about Wyatt? Or was that just how he gave himself permission to do what he already wanted?
Who he already wanted.
Kat, are you still up?
Kat, are you OK?
I’m always up, but nothing’s OK.
CHAPTER 30
ELLEN
Sadie’s in a regular room, and I’m dying to see her.
Poor choice of words, perhaps.
But I just want to verify with my own eyes that she’s on the mend, that no babies have been harmed in the making of this revenge tale.
Also, I have to remind Kat of what she has to do to save that precious little girl of hers. Last night, I felt her wavering. She even mentioned opting in. That would be the worst-case scenario for me: not only does Kat stay in the neighborhood, she invades the spreadsheet. She gets into the AV even deeper.
Doug’s talking on his cell phone outside the room, and when he sees me approaching, he ends the call and stands directly in my path.
“I want you to leave my family alone,” he says. He’s not angry, exactly, more like grave.
“I’m Kat’s friend.”
“I’ll bet you are.” It’s like he knows that I can’t be trusted, like he’s actually looking after his wife for once, the way a husband is supposed to.
What did Kat tell him? Or could it have been Andie?
It would be so like Katrina to tell him about our conversation and make it sound like I’m at fault, like I’m the bad influence. I know she’s capable of lying, no matter who gets hurt.
I force myself to stay calm. “I’m Kat’s closest friend,” I say. “I’m the one who’s helped her through all this when you were MIA.”
“MIA?” He scoffs. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“There’ve been some unexplained absences.”
He glowers. “I think you should leave now.”
“I want to see Kat and Sadie. I want to make sure they’re all right.”
“Everyone’s doing great. Sadie’s going to be discharged tomorrow. The last thing we need is stress.”
“I don’t stress Kat out; I alleviate her stress. Can you say the same?”
I start to walk around him, and he grips my arm.
“Do you want this getting around the neighborhood?” I ask. “That you manhandle women?”
Of course that does the trick. Gotta protect his image. He lets go and steps to the side. “I’m sorry,” he says. “All of this does a number on your head.” He sounds sincere, but whatever.
Inside the room, Andie is chatting up Scott and Melody, while Kat plays with Sadie. I can’t believe Kat would allow Doug’s presumed mistress entrance into her private life. It’s like she’s got no self-respect at all.
The room has two cribs, one at each end, but Sadie’s the only child there, so the family’s commandeered the entire space. There’s an actual door and a window. Even though it’s antiseptically white and the view is of the busy boulevard below, it feels lavish compared to Sadie’s previous accommodations.
Sadie is responding to Kat with smiles and giggles. When Kat sees me, she looks pleased, and I cast a triumphant look in Doug’s direction. He doesn’t notice. He’s already too engaged in the conversation with Andie and his parents. I can’t tell if Kat is isolating herself or being frozen out, but there are two camps: Kat and me versus the res
t of them. It’s like there’s one of those invisible electric fences down the center of the room. It looks to me like Kat’s in-laws are embracing the mistress.
“So, how are you?” I ask Kat. As in love with Sadie as she looks, she also appears entirely exhausted, on the verge of collapse.
“They think it must have been a virus,” Kat says. “They’re still not really sure. I just need to focus on the most important thing, which is that everything’s under control and she’s being discharged tomorrow.”
“Where are you taking her?”
“I’m taking her home.” Do I detect a note of defiance, like Kat’s telling me my plan isn’t working? Or maybe she just thinks she has no other choice but to go home, so she might as well act like it’s what she would have chosen anyway. I know a little something about denial. Or at least, my therapist said I do.
“I’m feeling a little tired,” I hear Melody say. She looks lovingly across the room at Sadie, and then she crosses the line. “Could I hold her before I go?” she asks Kat with exaggerated deference.
Kat nods and gives Sadie up. Then she goes and stands by the window, like she can’t bear to look at Sadie in anyone else’s arms. Scott and Doug encircle Melody and Sadie, a perfect little family tableau.
“We’re going to drive home now,” Scott announces. “I think Melody and I could use a night in our own bed.”
Melody is making a great show of her reluctance as she hands Sadie to Doug. Then she gives Kat a pro forma kiss on the cheek, while Scott doesn’t even bother. They close the door softly on their way out.
Then there were three. Well, four, counting Sadie, but three is so much more Agatha Christie. I loved those books. Kat and I loved them together. We spent an entire summer in the library, reading through the shelf.
Sadie is still in Doug’s arms, and now Andie’s standing way too close to them, alternately cooing at Sadie and looking up into Doug’s face. I don’t know if she’s trying to put on a show and make Kat feel awful or she’s so into Doug as to be completely oblivious. I’ve never doubted her love and devotion to Nolan before, but now . . .