Finally asleep, Grace seemed to get heavier on my shoulder. Carefully I lowered her to the bed. She lay on her back with her arms relaxed, the only good thing I knew I could offer my husband. “Your girl’s asleep. When she wakes, I’ll send you a picture on this phone.”
“I’d like that. I miss you both so much.” His voice was in my ear, as intimate as if he were beside me.
We were talking but leaving so much unsaid. That was the way we had been in Texas, walking through our days closed off and mute, isolated even when we were together. I wanted to know, really know, everything he wasn’t telling me. “What did you really do all day?”
He was silent, and I couldn’t stand it. If I wanted honesty, I’d have to go first. I blurted out, “Before the whole sourdough thing, I went to the museum.”
“Really?” He sounded shocked. “What for?”
Maybe this was a bad idea. He’d think I was obsessing or worse, regressing. But I was tired of letting my fear widen the gulf between us. “When I was looking at Aimee’s pictures online, I thought I saw Lena. I went to warn her.”
“You thought Lena was up there, and you went out alone?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s in Texas anyway.”
“You didn’t know that, Kacy. Damn.”
“But you’re safe? I mean, if she’s down there—”
“I’m safe, I swear. There’s someone here all the time. We split a pizza for dinner. Nice guy. But, Kacy, promise me you’ll stay put. That was the point of going up there, so you and Grace would be safe.”
“You have to promise me too.”
“I’m in a safe house with an armed officer. How much safer do I need to be?”
“No, I mean, promise that you’ll tell me when something big happens. Just because I’m up here doesn’t mean you’re on your own.”
He was silent again. I’d pushed him too hard. He didn’t want my help, and now he was withdrawing just like he had before. I started to say, “I’m sorry,” but he spoke at the same time, and I couldn’t understand him.
We both stopped, and then I whispered, “Go ahead.”
“I’ll go to therapy.”
I must have misheard. “What?”
“When this is over.” He spoke quickly and quietly, his words running together. “I’ll talk to Dr. Lindsey or anyone you want. And you and I, we’ll take Grace to the zoo, and we’ll visit the River Walk, and it’ll all be okay. We’ll be okay.”
“I know, sweetheart. We will be.” He yearned for me too, and the way things used to be. I wasn’t alone; he wasn’t the cold stranger I’d been living with. My Michael was there, and he would fight for our future.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, so much.”
I would have stayed on the phone with him all night, holding it close and listening to him breathe, but instead we hung up with promises to talk again tomorrow.
Grace was snoring softly on the bed, her little chest vibrating like a purring cat. I wished I could believe that the world was as safe as it seemed to her. A full belly and her mama’s presence were all she needed. I caressed the top of her soft head.
If I could go back to the beginning, if Michael and I had bought a different house, if I hadn’t gone to the Bluebonnets, if I’d recognized Lena for what she was, if I’d heeded any of the warning signs—the cameras, the bitter comments, Sandy’s death—then that awful night in the nursery would never have happened. I’d feel just as content as Grace did. Instead I was tense, my shoulders unyielding knots of stress. If Lena was in Texas, maybe we were safe here, but she might be creating a fake case against Michael, stalking Elizabeth, or something worse than I could even imagine.
Around the edges of the woven bamboo blinds, I could see that the world outside was almost completely dark. I gently lifted Grace into her portable crib, sliding my hands out from under her warm back without waking her. I turned off the light and slipped out the bedroom door, ready to rejoin my parents for a quiet evening.
As I sat on the end of the futon, my mother asked, “Everything okay?”
“Just catching up with Michael.”
She nodded, clearly waiting for more information. So I said, “The FBI questioned him today, but Alondra was with him. And he’s doing okay in the safe house.”
Mom looked back at the game show, where a contestant had just blown the big question and was hiding his face in his palm. She said, “Texas seems so far away. I’ve felt that ever since you moved.”
I reached out and took her hand. If I hadn’t met Aimee, would Michael and I ever have left the Northeast? Maybe not. Maybe we wouldn’t have met Brady and Lena, I’d still be working, my parents would spend every weekend with Grace, and we’d watch this true-crime story unfolding from a safe distance, disturbed but not distraught.
I texted Alondra. When are the FBI or the police sending someone?
Her answer was quick: Working on it.
Maybe Lena would retreat, there would be no more sightings, no more postcards. But I knew that wouldn’t make things better. The FBI would keep looking, but Michael and I would either have to enter witness protection or go back to our lives, never able to relax or feel safe again.
“Did you know Shakira just finished an ancient philosophy course?” Mom held up her magazine so I could see.
I nodded, and as she flipped the page, my breath caught. Maybe Lena wasn’t running around Texas faking a case against Michael. Maybe she was faking her presence in Texas altogether.
The box left on my doorstep and the postcards in Texas could have been dropped off by any of Lena and Brady’s subcontractors. That security camera footage had been fuzzy. Maybe someone else was in the footage. Maybe Lena had used technology to alter the feed.
Maybe … I pulled up the search engine on my phone. The last time I’d seen Lena, she’d said she was visiting her aunt. The aunt who had given her the sourdough starter. The aunt who’d raised her. Was there a picture of this woman?
In a news story titled Local Woman Questioned in Serial Killer Case, there was a photo labeled “Courtesy of the Texas Department of Public Safety,” a terrible driver’s license photo of a grim-faced woman with Lena’s unruly hair and strong build. Lena’s aunt might be the one caught on the surveillance camera, trying to help out her niece.
My brain wanted to argue, but my body was certain, ice-cold with fear. Lena was still here. That jar on my parents’ front steps couldn’t be a coincidence.
But it wasn’t proof. Not the kind anyone would believe.
When Aimee destroyed my life, Michael and I had run away and started over. But there was nowhere we could run from Lena. She’d pick off the people I loved one by one, and then she’d just disappear again. Tension tightened every sinew in my body as my mind flipped between the options.
Lena was in Texas. Michael was in so much danger that they’d switched his secret apartment. Elizabeth was getting threats. Lena could cross the border into Mexico, Brady would keep lying about Michael’s involvement, and our home would never be safe again.
Lena was here. Grace was in danger. My parents—I’d brought a killer right to them. Lena wasn’t going to forget where they lived. They would never be safe, not while she was out there. Molly would come back from her tour, my parents would return to gardening and fishing, and then one day …
I couldn’t even think about it, but it was the only thought in my mind. Their house empty. Their bodies gone. Their blood on my hands.
Surreptitiously, I looked down at Aimee’s social media feeds, still open on my phone. There was an event at the museum, an annual benefit for education and the arts where every local celebrity, from restaurateurs to fashionistas to politicians, would be in attendance. Not only wasn’t Aimee worried about the warning I’d given her, she didn’t even care that I could stalk her. She hadn’t blocked me or hidden her post or anything. She wasn’t scared at all, not like me.
I was holding the phone in my hand when it buzzed with a text
from a number marked Unknown: Hey girl, what’s taking you so long? Get your ass over here.
The sound of the television faded away. All I could hear was my own breath roaring in my ears. The tone of the text, it sounded like …
I watched my shaking fingers type Who is this?
My mother touched my arm and asked, “What’s wrong?” Her words were garbled and warped as if I were underwater. Lena was in Texas. That’s where the police were looking for her. We were safe here; we had to be.
I shook off my mom’s hand, gripping the phone until the next text appeared: Come find me … or I’ll come get you. Who do you know in Hawthorne? One of your sisters?
My dad was standing now.
“We have to go.” I was on my feet, dizzy with adrenaline. “She knows. Lena knows we’re here.”
My mom stood, her magazine falling to the floor. “Where are the police?”
Another text: Not the one with kids. She’s in Cherry Hill …
“I’ll call them.” My dad already had his phone in his hand. My mind was whirling through the choices. The police, Alondra, Michael, someone. How did Lena know where we were?
My phone buzzed again: You’re not answering. You were way more fun before you had a baby.
I knocked over the end table, rushing to the bedroom. Over my shoulder I said, “Get in the car. I’ll get Grace.”
“Where are we going?” Dad asked as Mom swept everything into their suitcase.
Another text: Better meet me before midnight, Cinderella. I’ll know if you try to screw me. You know where I’ll be.
And I was in motion, scooping Grace up so abruptly that she woke with a cry. In a blur, I snatched up her stuffed rabbit, pulled one-handedly on the portable crib to collapse it, and whirled out of the room, leaving a T-shirt and yesterday’s socks on the floor.
Nothing mattered but getting away. Lena knew we were here, and my family wasn’t safe.
“Let’s go,” I called to my parents, but my dad had already started the car, and my mom was waiting by the front door. She took Grace so I could carry the crib, the diaper bag, and my own suitcase. With a jolt, I thought about my phone, but its weight was in my pocket. My hands full, I staggered to the car and swung my baggage into the trunk.
My mother buckled Grace into her car seat but paused before climbing into the passenger’s side. “Did we lock it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told her, but she was already running, key in hand, alone through the dark. Watching my mom, my back pressed against the car, I pulled out my phone to see if any other texts had come through.
And then my stomach flipped. The phone. That’s how Lena knew where I was. She and Brady had installed cameras in our home; why wouldn’t she have put a “track my phone” alert on mine? Maybe in her backyard when I was swimming while she lounged by the pool, my phone unattended beside her. Maybe at my house, when I was in the bathroom and Grace was the only witness. A hundred opportunities came to mind, and I wanted to fling the phone from me like a venomous spider.
My fingers tightened, and I raised my hand, but then I remembered: I’ll know if you try to screw me. What kind of spyware might Lena have installed? Had she listened to my phone calls? Could she read my text messages? Had she seen every website I’d visited and every app I’d used?
I looked at the screen as I had so many times, but there was no glowing light or indication that its camera was looking back at me. Still, I could feel Lena’s calculating gaze.
If she got angry with me, she’d come after my family. After all, she was willing to wait, to play, to hunt us. She knew I post-stalked Aimee. She’d planned for me to see her in that photo. Whatever was happening in Texas, whoever was on that security footage, it wasn’t Lena. She was waiting for me here in Jersey. And I didn’t know if she was monitoring my location, my calls and texts, or every single thing I did.
Mom ran back to the car. “Ready?”
I’d have to be. Just like when Michael and I had sneaked out of the house with Grace, I’d have to escape without making Lena suspicious.
I slid into the back beside Grace’s car seat, the phone still clutched in my sweaty hand. “Dad, we’re going to the police station. The one in Montclair.”
“I’ll need directions,” he said, pulling away from the house.
“Exit 148.” No need for a GPS, since my recent trip to the museum had refreshed my memory. I didn’t want just any police station, or even the closest one. I wanted the one on the way to the museum. The one where I’d been taken after Aimee framed me. Where I hadn’t been believed, where I’d been so afraid I’d be charged, where a local reporter had caught wind of the story and my old life had ended. That was fear, but what I felt now, choking me, making it hard to breathe or even think—this was terror.
“How do you know that woman found us?” my mother asked.
“Alondra,” I lied. If my parents knew I’d gotten texts from Lena, there was no way they’d let me protect them. They would die to keep me safe, and I couldn’t let that happen. My voice sounded shrill and fake in my ears. “She told me which police station to go to. Let me see your phone for a sec.”
Mom passed it over. In the darkness, I couldn’t see her face, but the faint scent of her gardenia perfume mingled with Grace’s sweet baby smell. If we just kept driving, we’d be safe. This was a place where Lena couldn’t touch us. We’d outrun her, and then …
And then she’d bide her time and strike us later when she chose. Nobody could run forever. My mother, bludgeoned, beaten, dead.
I opened my contacts and entered Alondra’s name and number into my mother’s phone with the designation lawyer. Leaving that screen open so it would be the first thing Mom saw when she unlocked her phone, I clicked it off and passed it back to her.
My father’s silence became heavier and heavier. As he signaled our turn off the Garden State, he said, “Kacy, exactly what did this lawyer say to you?”
Heat rose in my body. “She texted that Lena was in our area and we should go to the police station.” The words sounded like something from a script, so fake. But he had to believe me. I couldn’t let Lena come after him.
“Did you call her?” he asked.
At the same time, my mother said, “Why the police station?”
“No, I didn’t call her.”
“Try her now.” My dad merged the car smoothly with traffic, thick and slow, off the exit.
My mother twisted around in her seat, even though it was too dark for us to see each other’s expressions. “Are they going to put us in a safe house?”
“I don’t know, Mom, maybe.” Looking at the last text—I’ll know if you try to screw me—I tapped the word Unknown, but there was no way to call it back. I held the phone to my ear, as if waiting. After a few seconds, I said, “Alondra, we’re on our way to the station. Call me.”
My mother sighed and turned back around. “It’ll be okay,” I told her. “Once we get to the station, we’ll be safe.”
And I imagined the relief. Running into the building, all of us together. I’d call Michael and Alondra, the police and the FBI would converge on the museum, and …
And Lena would be gone. She’d disappear again, and my family would stay in purgatory, never safe, never at ease, never truly free. And if Lena did kill Aimee, they’d think Michael and I were both in on it, especially with the lies Brady was telling now. Grace could grow up with this shadow blighting her life. No playdates, shunned at school, pointed out by strangers. Her dad’s a killer, her mom’s a psycho.
Maybe I could ask the police to take my phone and go after Lena. But if she was using the camera or listening in, she’d know it was a trick. And she’d disappear to plot revenge.
At least I should tell my parents what was happening. They were going to be so terrified, so guilty, so angry that I was doing this alone. But it was worth it to keep them safe.
I pulled up Aimee’s social media feed, the one I’d been examining when Lena’s text came through. Coi
ncidence, or had Lena been waiting? As I swiped through the photos now, scrutinizing the backgrounds, trying to focus on the shaking screen, I felt an absolute certainty that Lena was there. Now I remembered the way Lena used to watch people, even me, with a cold steadiness when she thought herself unobserved. She’d been quick to anger, showed absolute disdain for pretentious “stupid” people, and was as ready to fight my battles as her own. At the time, it had felt like validation, like someone on my side. I’d been the one who was stupid.
If Lena really was there, she’d be watching Aimee and relying on my phone to let her know where I was. I’d find her, distract her, and then contact the police. The station was so close.
I’m strong. I can do this. But the affirmations were just covering up a deeper whisper. I’m going to die.
We pulled into the dark parking lot, and I lifted Grace’s car seat out, leaving my phone and purse on the back seat. We were still really near the interstate. Maybe I could get away with this detour.
The limestone building seemed to glow in the dark like a fortress of safety. My parents waited for me, and I sped up. Dad held the door and we entered a lobby, older than the one in Sugar Land but with the same elements: locks on the doors to prevent entry farther into the building, a display case with medals and awards, and the officer seated behind a protective barrier.
I set Grace’s seat on the floor, her eyes wide as she took in the bright lights of the police station. I had to be the kind of person she’d look up to, the kind of person who was brave, who rescued others, who took action. But I didn’t want to leave.
You were more fun before you became a mom.
My heart beat a staccato rhythm in my chest. Grace. I’d do whatever Lena wanted, sacrifice myself, as long as Grace was safe.
The car keys were still in my father’s hand, and quickly I took them. “Left my phone in the car.” Before he could insist on going with me, I darted out of the building, hurled myself into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.
I didn’t look in the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER
You Can Never Tell Page 25