“Oh, but he did.” Katie’s eyes twinkled. She extracted a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it on the counter next to Violet. “He just took his sweet time getting around to it.”
“‘You on the beach in the Camp Pickiwicki shirt…’” Violet read aloud. She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“What does it say?” Gram asked, sitting up straighter.
“It’s one hundred percent him!” Katie squealed. “He says his name is Finn. You know his name is Finn, Vi.”
“What,” Gram demanded, “does the damn thing say?”
Violet swallowed the lump in her throat. “‘If you’re reading this, the third coincidence is the charm. Care to pick up where fate left off? My name is Finn, by the way. It’s pretty obvious by now that I should have told you that.’”
“What were the first two coincidences?” Gram asked, puzzled.
“That they both went to Camp Pickiwicki, and they both live here now but met in Florida,” Katie answered for her. “Or, wait—is that three coincidences?” Her brow furrowed. “Well, so what if he can’t count. It’s him. It’s so him!” She downed the rest of her wine in a big gulp and clinked the glass down.
Violet read the ad again. “I don’t get it. After all this time—two years?”
“You don’t know that he didn’t try to look for you before. This might just be the first note you’ve seen! Imagine: There could have been flyers on buses—you always drive!—and messages on the scoreboard—you never go to Reds games!—or ads in the Enquirer—you never read the paper! Even this, you didn’t see—I just happen to have seen it!” Katie’s excitement bubbled over into a full-out squeal, and Gram laughed in spite of herself.
Violet raised an eyebrow. “There’s also the small detail that he was engaged.”
Katie was undeterred. “So they called it off! And he thought about the one possibility that got away. You can’t hold it against him when it’s so positively perfect.”
“So what am I supposed to say—that I actually happen to know his name and that he was engaged because he canceled a job interview with me? Supposedly because he was going to relocate, though obviously he’s still here?”
“That was a year ago. He might not be still here. He might be back here. All that matters is that he’s here. And you’re not supposed to say anything. You know nothing.” Katie waved her fingers in front of Violet’s face like a deranged magician.
“You know I can never keep a secret,” Violet said, laughing. “I tell everyone everything. And even if I don’t, they read it all over my face.”
“Keep this one,” Katie said firmly. “I’m sure he’ll tell you on his own, answer all your questions then, and the two of you can have a laugh about your near misses before fate finally brought you together.”
“I don’t know if the Missed Connections page qualifies as fate.”
“Sure it does. What are the odds of someone taking the leap of faith to post something after all this time? What are the odds of you seeing it? What are the odds of you still being available and interested?”
“And when he asks if I’ve thought about him at all for the last two years?”
“Be honest. I mean, he placed the ad looking for you. He’ll be glad to hear you’ve been thinking about him.”
“Honest except for the year I was thinking he was engaged?”
Katie shrugged. “Be honest and play dumb.”
“At the same time?”
“Well…” She smiled. “Yeah.”
20
AUGUST 2016
Caitlin wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the words woke her with the stopping of her heart. She could tell right away that it was Bear’s voice, not one of her own boys’, coming from down the hall, but it was in her biological programming—in every mother’s organic makeup—that those words would have woken her anytime, anywhere.
“I want my mommy.”
That voice—it wasn’t just whiny, or tired, or confused. It was heartbroken. She could hear Finn’s murmurs, attempting to hush him, and more pathetic little cries from Bear that clawed at her gut until she thought she might vomit. But then she heard Finn padding into the kitchen, and feigned sleep as she listened to the opening of the refrigerator, the soft popping of the milk carton, some fumbling among the sippy cups and lids in the dish drainer, and then a second creak of the refrigerator door before his steps retreated to the sofa bed.
She waited until she could no longer hear any shuffles or sighs, not even the slightest creak from the cabin itself or anyone in it, and untangled herself from the mess of blankets on the couch. She knew now what she hadn’t wanted to admit when she’d drifted off earlier. This wasn’t going to work. Talking sense into Finn was simply going to take too long. Because lying there in the darkness, hearing that tiny little I want my mommy playing over and over in her head, the emphasis on the word mommy as if it were an inalienable right he’d been denied, it became clear that another minute was too long, let alone hours, possibly days …
It was up to Caitlin to get Bear home. It was the only thing she could do to redeem herself. And even if she was beyond redemption, it was just the right thing to do.
She rose as quietly as she could and made her way down the hall and into the master bedroom, pausing every few steps to listen for sounds of anyone else awake. There were none. With both hands, she felt her way through the darkness past the hulking wood footboard of the bed and into the adjoining master bathroom, shut the door carefully behind her, and only then flipped the light switch. She squinted into the brightness of the white globe bulbs mounted above the vanity, letting her eyes adjust. Then she pulled open all three panels of the mirrored medicine cabinet and stood back and surveyed its contents.
For the first time ever, Caitlin was grateful for her mother-in-law being so uptight, and for her father-in-law always reaching for the quickest ways to keep his wife happy. They were all here—the anti-anxiety meds, the prescription sleep aids. It was an impressively stocked pharmacy for a second house that Beverly hardly even visited anymore. Caitlin knew that this was nothing compared to the mother lode she’d surely find at their estate in Ohio—not that she’d ever been in their bedroom there. She was still too much of a guest and not enough of a family member for that.
Caitlin herself hardly ever took medicine unless she absolutely had to. Those years of trying to get pregnant, and then being pregnant, and then nursing, she’d gotten used to suffering through cold and flu season on nothing but an occasional Tylenol. Her father-in-law had once gently joked, after Caitlin may have overreacted to a giant red goose egg that appeared on Leo’s head while her in-laws were babysitting—the origins of which they had not the slightest idea—that Caitlin herself could perhaps benefit from an occasional Xanax. Obviously he’d never come to know her very well; the idea was ridiculous. Beneath her smooth surface, Caitlin was far too anxious to take an anti-anxiety pill. What if it affected her strangely? What if she didn’t feel like herself? Or what if she liked it too much? What if she did something out of character in front of the boys?
No. Not for her.
Caitlin lifted the first prescription bottle timidly and read its label. Then another. And another. Her ears strained for any sounds of Finn rousing.
The only way Finn would let her walk out of here with Bear was if Finn was unable to stop her. And the only way that was going to happen was if he didn’t have his faculties about him. Confusion or exhaustion probably wouldn’t cut it. She was going to have to render him unconscious.
But she didn’t want to harm him. It would have to be just enough for him to perhaps feel sick, to let his guard down and doze off, and to not be easily woken. By the time he came to, she might even have made it all the way to Asheville with Bear and the twins. At least, she’d have a pretty good head start. She’d never driven directly there from here, but she guessed it to be about three hours.
After much deliberation, she twisted the ch
ildproof top off the bottle of Ambien. She shook out an oblong white pill and touched it briefly to the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t detect much of a taste. Some chalkiness, maybe a bit of a mineral flavor. She’d have to mask it, to be sure, but at least it didn’t have the strong bitterness of, say, a Tylenol that didn’t go down with the first swig of water.
Ambien it was.
She would have to slip it into his morning coffee, the first chance she got—there was no telling what else the day might bring. That meant she’d have to use enough of the sleep aid to overpower the caffeine. She shuddered at what could happen if she gave him too much—but it was risky to underdose him, too. How to determine the sweet spot in between? She knew better than to search the Web. She couldn’t afford to leave any evidence of her plan, in case something went horribly wrong.
Just as when she’d gotten in the car and driven down here, she was going to have to wing it.
21
AUGUST 2016
In another universe, one where things had played out differently, Violet might have been glad—giddy, even—to find out all these years later that Finn had looked for her right away after all. That he had flown home from the beach, as she had, still thinking of their encounter, of how he might find her against the odds, of the fact that there was something unfinished between them—something that could be the start of something new, something wonderful, something real, something meant to be.
So what if he had been detoured on his path to finding the woman he’d been looking for all along?
But this was not that universe. This was a universe in which she’d learned this choice piece of her own romantic history from his dead fiancée’s mother. A universe in which being grateful that she and Finn had ended up together in spite of so many things gone wrong now meant being grateful, in a roundabout way, that someone had been killed—that Finn had been responsible for the death of someone he loved. No longer could Violet look back at her life and admire the way the Fates had arranged things just so. Her own happiness—or what she’d thought was happiness—would not have been possible without someone else’s tragedy. How was she supposed to reconcile that? How had Finn even been attempting to reconcile that all these years?
So what if he’d looked for her immediately after Sunny Isles? He’d found someone else, someone he loved and planned to be happy with instead. And when that blew up, and the appropriate amount of time passed, he settled for Violet. Or, at least, he tried to.
In their long line of dominoes that toppled in seemingly perfect order, there was one that had not been synchronized after all, one that had failed to fall. And that domino was Finn.
Violet’s kitchen was especially gloomy after dark, with the overhead light down to just one bulb that wasn’t burned out. The fixture was nearly impossible to get apart while balancing on a stepstool or chair, and she and Finn always had to tag-team it. Every time, she would quip, “How many Welshes does it take to change a lightbulb?” and every time, Finn would grumble, too annoyed with the stubborn thing to laugh. Now she sat at the table in silence, unable to look across at Gram, and eyed the light suspiciously. How long until she was completely in the dark? And when had her life become one giant metaphor?
These long days in the house, she had either far too much space or not enough. She was getting tired of being trapped at this cramped kitchen table with people who were asking uncomfortable questions. She’d known she had to talk to Gram after speaking with Mrs. Branson, but she would have preferred to do it in the kitchenette of Gram’s comforting old lady apartment, surrounded by comforting old lady things. Violet still couldn’t bring herself to leave the house, though. What if Finn came back, found the place empty, and changed his mind and left again? She knew the FBI was keeping an eye on things, but they weren’t camped outside 24/7—at least, she didn’t think so. In spite of their repeated questioning, she didn’t think they truly suspected her of anything other than naïveté, and she also didn’t get the feeling they expected Finn to reappear on his own. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold out hope. What else was there to do?
So after she’d hung up with Delilah and watched, in stunned silence, as the last of the day’s sunlight faded, she’d called Gram and asked her to come over. Gram must have sensed that something was different, because whereas before she’d been pushing herbal tea or coffee, this time she brought wine. White, already chilled. Violet had stashed the vodka back in the cupboard before Gram arrived, and she was tempted to retrieve it now that self-medication was apparently acceptable. Her wineglass sat, untouched, in front of her; Gram’s was almost empty. Violet had just finished relaying all she’d learned from her visit from Agent Martin and her conversation with Mrs. Branson, and was waiting for Gram to say something—anything. Gram, meanwhile, was doing that thing therapists do—remaining silent and looking patiently at Violet as if waiting for her to say more.
Violet caved. “The thing is,” she began again, “I always felt like Finn knew me. From the very first moment, we just had this comfort level that felt … I don’t know, almost automatic. It was like we were complete strangers who already understood each other, on some subconscious level. I know I didn’t imagine that. But now that it turns out there’s so much I didn’t know, I’m not sure I even know myself anymore.”
Gram pointed to Violet’s glass. “Drink.”
She obeyed.
“Now,” Gram said. “This is devastating, to state the obvious. I almost feel responsible, being the reason you both came here. Maybe if we hadn’t—” Violet held up a hand to stop her, and Gram nodded sadly. “No point in discussing that, I suppose. But I don’t want to hear any more of this about not knowing yourself without Finn.”
Gram hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Violet said. “Say it.”
Gram sighed. “We did know that you didn’t know everything there was to know about him. From the day he canceled that interview, before you even met him again, you knew that he had been engaged. And when he never told you himself, you chose to let it go. I remember asking you about it once, and you said—”
“I know what I said,” Violet snapped. “I said that it was probably just a nasty breakup and he didn’t want to talk about his ex, and that having been through a few myself, I didn’t blame him. Obviously I couldn’t have imagined this.”
Gram placed a hand on top of Violet’s. “I know, darling. No one could. Let’s not argue. I’m on your side here.”
But Violet was thinking back to their first date—their first real date, after they had found each other again—and to something Finn had said. Or rather, something he had asked her. She saw now with absolute clarity that neither one of them had been able to take a hint. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her few remaining defenses crumbling. There were a lot of places she could rightly direct her anger, but Gram wasn’t one of them. “You’re right. I never should have let that drop with Finn. And I should have known we were forcing the issue. And what you said the other day, about me being a ship? About making sure what I wrote in my captain’s log was accurate?”
Violet drew a shaky breath. “You were right about that, too. How could I have thought our story was romantic? How could anyone have thought it?”
Shame pooled hot in her cheeks as the tears began to fall, and she swiped at them angrily. A burst of cynical laughter emerged from somewhere deep within her.
“There are way too many medical emergencies in our story, for one thing,” she said, sniffing loudly. “First, we don’t get together because a woman goes into anaphylactic shock on the beach. Next, we do get together—but, little did I know, it’s only possible because Finn’s first choice of fiancées dies in a horrible accident. Then, just months after we’re married, I almost die from my postpartum hemorrhage—no wonder Finn freaked. I’d be willing to bet the only thing that kept him from taking off then was how bad it would have looked, running out on his wife and newborn. But none of this is normal. This cannot
be the way things were supposed to be.”
Gram made a posh-posh kind of noise. “First of all, life is full of medical emergencies. More than any of us like to think about. That’s the way it is; we’re fragile creatures. I’m an old lady, bound to have one myself sooner or later. It’s inevitable.”
She refilled her wineglass and poured more into Violet’s too, though she’d taken only that one sip. “Second, Maribel was not Finn’s first choice of fiancées. He did not have you and Maribel standing side by side and he got to know you both and then decided he liked Maribel better. He found Maribel instead of you and it worked out. Has it occurred to you that maybe she worried he was settling for her but still wondering what might have happened if he had actually found you?”
Violet looked at her blankly, and Gram leaned back in her seat as if she’d proved some great point.
“But he has me side by side with Maribel now, and he’s choosing her.” Violet started to cry again. “She’s not even alive, and he’s choosing her!”
Gram shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s true. He’s choosing guilt. He’s choosing to punish himself. Maybe even to deny himself. Maybe his love for you has always been just as real as you thought, but he can’t give himself over to it because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. When I said earlier that sometimes he seemed like he was going through the motions, I shouldn’t have ascribed my own reasons to that. If he did have a sense of detachment, there could have been other reasons. Better reasons. And temporary ones. Things he was trying to work through—maybe still is.”
“What difference does it even make at this point? It’s too late for us now. There’s no way we can come back from this.”
“Don’t be so sure, dear. You’re a good ship captain—the best. If there is a way back, you’ll find it.”
Violet shook her head sadly. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever find my way without Bear. I still don’t understand…” She swallowed hard, fighting emotion, trying to find the words for her confusion. “Even knowing what we know now, I still don’t understand why he took him. Why he left, maybe. But why take my son?”
Almost Missed You Page 17