What They Don’t Know

by Nicole Maggi

  I want to cry, but I’ve lost the strength.

  “It’ll be okay,” Lise says, over and over. I want to believe her. But she’s wrong. The fear is wrapped so tight around me, I don’t know how I’m still alive. Shouldn’t the fear just kill me? Isn’t “scared to death” a phrase for a reason?

  But I haven’t died. Somehow, I’m still alive.

  Lise keeps driving.

  Lise keeps telling me, “It’ll be okay.”

  My heart keeps beating.

  My family knows. And they are close. I can feel them.

  Deep down, I know the reckoning will come, but as long as I’m in this car, I don’t have to face it. I can just live in this moment for as long as Lise’s gas tank holds out.

  I look over at Lise, hunched over the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the snow-covered road in front of her.

  I hold my hand out. Without a word, she takes hers off the steering wheel and squeezes my fingers.

  “It’ll be okay,” she says again.

  I still don’t believe her…but I believe that she believes it, and that has to be enough.

  Signed,

  Mellie Rivers

  March 23

  (Again)

  Dear Ms. Tilson—

  When I was seven, my dad hit a deer with our Toyota Highlander. Ten years later, I can still hear the screech of the tires, feel the thud of the deer’s body as our car crashed into it. And I can still see its eyes. You know that saying, “a deer in the headlights”? When you see a real deer in real headlights, you truly understand that saying.

  That’s all I could think about when I looked over at Mellie in the passenger seat. She had that same look in her eyes. Like she was about to meet her doom.

  The thing is, I couldn’t guarantee that she wasn’t.

  I headed back to town, because there was nowhere else to go. There’s only one road in and out of Wolverton and all the roads in between lead to Mellie’s parents.

  Mellie leaned back in her seat and covered her face with her hands. I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not. Her whole body was shaking, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said. They felt like the emptiest words I’d ever spoken.

  “How?” Mellie pulled her hands away from her face. She wasn’t crying. Her expression was so terrified it was beyond crying. “Where am I gonna go?”

  “We’ll find someplace safe. My house.”

  “Lise, they probably already know about your mom now. We can’t put her in more danger.”

  Shit, she’s right. I kept driving, my mind a blank. We rolled back into town. Streetlights pooled on the ground, giving the snow a soft glow, making it look kinder and gentler than it actually was. No one was out on the roads. Why would they be? Everyone’s hunkered down, ready to wait out the storm.

  I slowed down at the stop sign at the base of Ridge Road. That’s Mellie’s neighborhood. Her nails dug into the seat as headlights swept down the hill. A silver SUV slowly descended in the snow.

  “It’s my father,” Mellie breathed.

  I stepped on the gas, even though I hadn’t come to a complete stop. “Get down,” I told her, and Mellie ducked under the shoulder strap of her seat belt and crouched on the floor so she wouldn’t be visible as we blasted through the intersection. A block later, I glanced in my rearview mirror.

  They were following us.

  “Shit.”

  “Oh God. They’re following us, aren’t they?” Mellie said.

  “I can lose them.”

  I took a hard right before we hit the high school. Mellie’s dad followed. Who the hell did he think I was? Why did he think his daughter was in this particular car? All I could imagine was that following me gave him some sense of purpose, that he could at least feel as if he was trying to find her.

  We climbed the hill into the Snowy Pines development where Cara lives. For an instant, I considered going to her house, but there was no way I could lose Mellie’s dad before we got there. I turned left, then right, then right again until I was at the top of the development, winding along the road that encircles it. The whole way, Mellie’s father followed, not too close, but close enough that he could see every turn I made. I’d have to figure out a way to leave Snowy Pines without looking suspicious, because why would someone drive up here if not to go somewhere specific? It’s not exactly good weather.

  Then I remembered: Cara and her family were away. They went to Colorado Springs for the weekend. She skipped school today so they could beat the weekend traffic…and the storm.

  I flicked on my blinker to take the next right. The silver SUV did the same. Cara’s house was on the next block and, thank goodness, her car was in the driveway, making it look like someone was home. I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car.

  “Stay down,” I told Mellie and tossed her a blanket from the back seat. She pulled it over herself so she was a fluffy, purple lump.

  I hopped out and walked up to Cara’s front door, head bent against the swirling snow. There was a light on in the front room. Cara’s mom leaves it on whenever they go away so the house doesn’t look empty. At that moment, I loved Cara’s mom. When I got to the porch, I turned to see Mellie’s father drive by slowly—so freaking slowly it was like the world had gone into slow motion. Someone in the passenger seat of the SUV rolled down the window and stuck her head out to watch me. It was Mellie’s mom.

  I knocked on the door, my heart pounding against my ribs. After a moment, I looked back. The street was empty. Down at the corner, the SUV turned onto the road that leads out of the development. I waited until its taillights disappeared, then raced back to my car. As I threw it into reverse, Mellie’s head popped up.

  “Are they gone?” she whispered.

  “For now.”

  I took us the back way out of Snowy Pines, putting us at the high school. I peered up and down Main Street, looking for the silver SUV. It was nowhere to be seen.

  But I couldn’t breathe. This was hour one. We still have forty-seven more to get through.

  —Lise

  March 23

  (Still)

  Dear Ms. Tilson—

  I took Mellie to Rowan’s house, because I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

  The snow piled up, the side of the road lined by deep drifts that encased the trees so the brown of their trunks disappeared into the white. By the time we pulled into Rowan’s driveway, I knew we were going to have to stay put.

  The lights inside his house glowed golden soft through the windows. I was so happy to be there that, for a second, I didn’t feel afraid. Anywhere with Rowan was safety. Sanctuary.

  When we got out of the car, Mellie tilted her head to the sky. Snow dusted her eyelashes and turned her eyebrows white. “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”

  “I think so.”

  We hung on to each other as we made our way up the slippery walk. At the front porch, I turned back and scanned the road. No cars. Rowan doesn’t live on a main street, but if Mr. Rivers made his way over here, he would surely recognize my car from Snowy Pines.

  Rowan and his mom can lock the doors, bar the windows, even call the police, but how long can we keep Mellie safe? We can’t legally keep the mayor from his own daughter. There are still forty-six hours left in the waiting period, and we still have to get Mellie to the clinic. Anything can happen between now and then, between here and there. Time is not on our side.

  I knocked on the door.

  After a minute, Rowan opened it. “Hey!” His face widened into a smile. “I thought you were going away this weekend!” His gaze slid from me to Mellie, and back to me. “What’s going on?”

  “Can we come in?”

  “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

  Rowan’s house always smells like something delicious just came out of the oven. H
alf the time it has. We followed him into the kitchen, where Rosemary was pulling out a tray of muffins. They smelled amazing. “Lise, honey! And Mellie! What a nice surprise.”

  “Hi, Rosemary.”

  “What brings you over in this weather? I was sure everyone was hunkered down. I closed the gallery early. The roads are terrible.”

  I peered out their big bay window that takes up half the wall in the living room. Rowan’s house is all open space and glass, which should feel cold, but somehow Rosemary makes it the opposite. I didn’t know what to say to her. It wasn’t my place to tell her what was really going on. The rumble of a car engine echoed outside. Mellie dashed around the back of the island counter, ready to duck out of sight. I held my breath. The car engine grew closer, closer, closer…a pickup truck crawled past. I recognized it as Jason Bellows’s, who lives one street over from Rowan. When the truck disappeared from view, I leaned over the counter where Mellie was crouched. “It wasn’t him,” I said. She straightened.

  “Okay,” Rowan said, “what the hell is going on?”

  “Rowan.”

  I’d never heard Rosemary sound so sharp. She’s always hippie-soft. She had this knowing look on her face, but she couldn’t possibly know. Could she? Rosemary does have an abundance of woman’s intuition, and it was clearly kicking in. “Why don’t you girls go into the TV room? Rowan and I will be right in with some tea and muffins.”

  The TV room is behind the kitchen, safely away from the street. She calls it the TV room because it’s the only room in the house that has one. I love their big flat-screen television, and the squishy leather couch and chairs with all their pillows and ridiculously warm-and-cozy faux-fur throw blankets. It’s aggressively comfortable. Rowan and I have spent many hours curled up watching movies or Netflix marathons, and those blankets are also great because they hide hands that might be in compromising places if a parent were to walk in unannounced.

  After settling on the couch, I pulled out my phone. “We need to call my mom. She’s probably freaking out.” I dialed the number and put it on speaker.

  Mom answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “Rowan’s house.”

  There was an audible sigh. “Okay, good. That seems safe for now.”

  “For now?” Mellie asked, her voice trembling.

  Mom heard it too. “Mellie, honey, how are you holding up?”

  I watched Mellie’s face as she tried to answer. Her pupils looked enormous beneath a shiny surface of tears. “Not good,” she finally whispered.

  “Mr. Rivers followed us through town,” I said. “He didn’t know Mellie was in the car, but still. It was—”

  “Terrifying,” Mellie finished for me. I wondered what that had been like for her, hiding under a blanket while her dad followed us. Terrifying seemed too small a word for that.

  “Jesus.” Mom’s anger and helplessness was palpable through the phone. “Okay, look. You’ll have to spend the night at Rowan’s. Hopefully as it gets darker and the snow gets worse, he’ll give up the search.”

  “But we still have to get her to the clinic.”

  “I know.”

  “Can’t we just do it tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Lise, you know the law. The waiting period is forty-eight hours. If we can get through tomorrow…”

  She trailed off and I knew we were all thinking the same thing. Tomorrow seemed endless.

  “What are you going to tell Rosemary?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking at Mellie. There were shadows on her face that hadn’t been there before.

  “The truth,” Mellie said, “I want to tell her the truth.”

  “I can talk to her if you want,” Mom offered.

  “No,” Mellie said. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. Static crackled on the line. “Lise, honey, you have my permission to tell her about my job. She has an I STAND WITH PLANNED PARENTHOOD sticker as her Facebook profile picture, so I think we can trust her.”

  I’d noticed that too; she’d had it up ever since the shooting at that clinic last year. It would be a relief to tell Rosemary. “Can I tell Rowan too?”

  “Yes, honey, you can.”

  I exhaled a shaky breath. I just hoped he wouldn’t be mad at me for not telling him the truth sooner.

  “Okay, call me later. Love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  The phone clicked off. Mellie and I looked at each other. I wondered what she saw in my face. What I saw in her face was that she was on the verge of tears. I settled her into one of the oversized chairs and tucked a faux-fur blanket around her. Rosemary came in carrying a tray with a teapot, three mugs, and a plate of muffins. She set it down on the coffee table. I looked past her. “Where’s Rowan?” I asked.

  “I told him to give us some time,” Rosemary said. “I thought maybe this should be a girls-only conversation.”

  Do you see what I mean about intuition? She has it. Then another thought occurred to me. “Hey, where’s Saul?” That’s Rowan’s dad. He’s not around a ton because of his work, but when he is, he likes to be involved in everything.

  “In Los Angeles for business.” She gave an overdramatic sigh. “It’s eighty-five degrees there today. He’s probably surfing. Bastard.”

  I forced a laugh. I like Saul, but maybe it was better he wasn’t here. It was one less person that Mellie would have to talk to.

  Rosemary poured us tea. “It’s rooibos, no caffeine,” and handed us each a muffin, “blueberry bran, good for the digestion.” Then she pulled over one of the floor pillows and sat down with her legs crossed.

  “Look,” she began, “I’m not going to make you tell me anything you don’t want to. But you came to my house—which is fine, my door is always open—and you’re hiding from cars driving down the street, and you both look scared, so obviously something is up. By being here, you’ve involved me, so I think I need some context.”

  This is what is so great about Rosemary. A lot of other parents would just say, “I’m the adult, you’re the child, spill.” She treats you like an equal…while letting you know, in no uncertain terms, you’d better tell her the truth.

  I looked over at Mellie.

  After a long sip of tea, Mellie set down her mug.

  And started to talk.

  —Lise

  Somehow, it is still March 23, the longest day of my life

  Dear Ms. Tilson,

  I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I don’t know what it’s like to show up at his house unannounced. At Rowan’s house, we’re greeted with warm smiles, tea, and homemade muffins. Is this what happens everywhere? Is that how normal people behave?

  Rowan’s house is nothing like mine. It’s more modern, with sharper angles and more open space and glass. And from the moment Lise and I walked in, I could tell the people who live here are happy. They don’t retreat to their separate corners, coveting their privacy in a house that has none. They respect each other. They like each other.

  That’s why when Lise’s mom asked us what we’re going to tell Rosemary, I said, “The truth.”

  When I first met Rosemary at the art gallery last week, she touched my arm while she talked, looked me in the eyes, and listened to what I had to say. I didn’t give it a lot of thought at the time, because I was so nervous about going to the clinic afterward, but I remembered it now.

  This house is just like her. Warm. Inviting. Comforting. Sanctuary. That gripping, paralyzing fear I felt in Lise’s car as we wound through Snowy Pines with Dad right behind us was ebbing away. I know he’s still out there looking for me, but in Rosemary’s house, I feel safe.

  So when she asked us to tell her what’s going on and Lise looked at me to lead the way, I told the truth. No more lies.

  And it feels good. It almost feels better than when
I told Lise.

  While I talked, Rosemary reached out and touched my knee. Occasionally interjected with an “Oh, honey.”

  Lise filled in her side of the story, about her mom and the clinic. Rosemary shook her head, her eyes sad. “I hate that you felt like you had to carry that all by yourself, Lise.”

  After we finished, Rosemary gave me a long, hard hug, and I could tell she wanted to cry—for me, for every girl who’s ever been in my shoes. When she pulled back, she brushed a lock of hair away from my face. My heart hurt when she did that. It should’ve been my own mother doing that, not someone else’s. My own mother should be the one protecting me.

  “I had one,” Rosemary said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. Startled, I looked up into her face. She had this faraway look in her eyes, like she was peering into the edge of her memory. “It was when I was in college. I dated this guy for a few months. The condom broke. We had already split up by the time I found out I was pregnant. There wasn’t a question that I wouldn’t keep it.”

  I stilled. It wasn’t the same as when Alanna told me she’d been raped too. Rosemary had sex by choice, and then made the decision she needed when she discovered she was pregnant. She wasn’t like the women the PCC insinuated I would become if I had one. She’s a mother. A successful business owner. An artist.

  Without taking a breath, I asked her the one question that has haunted me.

  “Do you regret it?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “No. I don’t regret it. Am I sad that I was in that situation? Yes. But it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault—”

  “Except the condom company’s,” Lise muttered.

  Rosemary snorted. “Well, they never claim to be one hundred percent effective. I still took the risk, because I wanted to have sex, and I don’t regret that. But I was twenty years old. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. And I had no support system. If I’d had that child, I wouldn’t have finished school or gone on to grad school…and that’s where I met Rowan’s dad. So I wouldn’t have met him, married him, had Rowan, moved here, and opened the gallery. Or been an artist. I would’ve been too busy struggling to make ends meet.”