Trouble Me

by Beck Anderson

  Thanks for the walk and talk today.

  I hope you find peace up north this week. Do it.

  Mari. Her words nudge me to make a decision.

  I think you should come with. Could you get off work?

  I shoot off another quick text to Tessa, letting her know a trip to Oregon might be in the works. Then I check to see if Mari has responded yet. I text her again.

  It’d be good for you and me, Mari. Think about it.

  “Who are you texting?” Andrew looks at me over the top of his script.

  “Mari. She told me something today that makes me really worry for her.”

  He sets his script down. “What was it?”

  “I think she told me in confidence. But a thing like that, it’d shake you to the core. Transform you. Worse even than what I went through with Peter. I’m worried she might do something.”

  “You can’t say stuff like that and not tell me what’s going on. That’s way too dramatic. Fill me in.”

  “She got blamed for a tragedy. By her father. He didn’t speak to her. I just wonder when it’s all going to come back to the surface for her. People suffer and hurt themselves over less painful stuff. You and I both know that.”

  “I know. So, see, this stuff…”

  He looks hesitant. I press for more. “Yeah, what about this stuff?”

  He sighs. “I can’t help it. The moment I saw Mari at the pool in New York—I mean, I’d seen her come and go in the mornings. Remember, I was the one who thought you might run with her—”

  “I remember that,” I encourage, trying to loosen his tongue.

  “But when I saw her at the pool, alarm bells went off for me. Maybe this is why—maybe she’s carrying all this trauma around. Just be careful.”

  I sit up on an elbow to get a better look in his eyes. “But you flew her out here for the baby shower.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I did, but I didn’t know she was going to drop everything and move here. And now you’re saying she’s troubled. If she needs help, you need to be careful, Kelly. I worry that you’ll take it really hard if you can’t help her.”

  “I get it, Andrew.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “Plus…”

  “Plus what?” I am gentle. He seems reluctant to say whatever this is.

  “All this weird stuff.”

  “Yeah?” I’m not sure where he’s headed with this. “But the police arrested Devon.”

  He nods. “I know. But even you said it didn’t sit right with you. What about Mari?”

  I consider. “I don’t know. She’s been nothing but kind. I like her. And Tucker did a background check on her.”

  He runs his hand through his hair, sighs. “I know. But now anyone does any little thing, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than we think.”

  I touch his arm. “I love that you’re worried. But we can’t let it eat us alive. Stay in the moment, right? You’re the one who helps me do that.”

  He leans over and kisses me. “This moment requires that I finish reading the script Jeremy sent me.” He picks the script up and adjusts his pillow before lying back again.

  I feel a sharp tightening. “Hey, that was a contraction.”

  “Are you sure we have three weeks?” Andrew sits up, concern in his eyes.

  “Probably closer to four. The boys were both overdue.”

  “Maybe baby Pettigrew’s on his own schedule. Sleep now and stop trying to solve all the world’s problems. Remember, we’re slowing things down. If we’re living in the moment, let’s slow down.”

  I consider this, turn it over in my mind. “Andrew? What would you think if we went to Oregon? Took the boys? Maybe I could invite Tessa? Maybe Mari if we both feel okay about it?” We’ll go to Oregon, and take Mari, help her heal.

  Andrew chews his lip. “I don’t know. It feels like we’re so close to baby.”

  “There’s a hospital in Seaside, but I promise, both boys were late. There’s no reason to think this one is coming early. I could take everybody now, and then you could join us on the weekend.”

  He sighs. “Let’s decide in the morning.”

  “Okay. I think it’d be peaceful; it’d be good.”

  “Sleep now, and we’ll talk about it.”

  I can do this.

  I wake up early, shower and dress, make tea for me and Andrew. Poor guy has another early call, and tonight he might not even make it home.

  He comes in the kitchen, hair wet, eyes barely open. “I am so tired. This movie needs to be done.”

  “Just wait—the baby will make this look like a leisurely pace. Both of the boys waited until they were about a year before they slept through the night.”

  He wraps his arms around me and kisses me. “A baby is at least cute in the middle of the night. The crew looks like a legion of zombies right now.”

  I turn to face him. “So, what do you think about my road trip idea?”

  He stretches, rolls his shoulders before they shrug up. “I worry. What if you just wait for me to be done, and we go together? I’d feel a lot better. Tucker could come with that way too.”

  His lips thin into a worried line.

  I can’t push him. We’ve made all these efforts to be together, so it seems dumb to argue about being apart. “I can see how you feel about it. I can wait. I’ll let Mari know.”

  His shoulders soften as soon as I say this. “After everything, playing it safe just seems smart.”

  I nod. He’s right. “All right, Mr. Movie Star, I’ll wait for you. Give me a kiss.”

  He gives me a smooch, and I breathe in the smell of clean Andrew: shampoo and shaving cream. I love it.

  Later that morning, when I text Mari to tell her, she doesn’t text back. I start to worry right away. What if letting the secret come to the surface was too much? I don’t want anything bad to happen. There’s been too much already.

  I have the day to myself. Mom and Dad came by after Andrew left, took the boys and the dog for a “nature sleepover.” Mom, bless her, stills campaigns to make LA and California seem more appealing. She’s hoping to turn my boys to her side. I don’t know if inviting comparison between the great outdoors in Boise vs. LA will be the way to do it. But she and Dad have them for two days full of hiking and fresh-ish air.

  So, I enjoy the day. I nap, I watch some soap operas and Judge Judy/Mathis/Somebody shows, I take a bubble bath and paint my nails. I make a note to have someone else paint my toes—it’s too awkward with my baby belly to reach them at the moment. I try texting Mari again and get no response.

  After a lovely warmed-up-leftovers dinner, I call my folks and say good night to the boys, and text Andrew to say good night. I don’t even bother to try to call him. I know they’re pushing hard to wrap this movie, and the next three days will be almost non-stop filming for him.

  The house starts to get a little quiet. I miss everyone, and the stillness feels weird. But I know I should enjoy it. I remember the pace a new baby will set. With an infant in the house, getting showered is sure to become a major accomplishment.

  There’s a knock at the door. It’s ten p.m. I look through the peephole. Mari.

  I open the door, and she stands in front of me, her eyes red, her hair wild. It looks as though she’s worn the same clothes for several days straight. Her car’s not out front. I don’t know how she got here.

  “Mari! You didn’t text me back. Are you all right?”

  “I thought we were going to Oregon. I packed and everything.” She points to a duffel bag at her feet.

  “Andrew wants us to wait for him. That’s why I texted.” I shift a little, feeling the hairs on my neck start to prickle.

  She points to my car. “I’m going to put my bag in the back. I’ll wait while you go get your stuff.”

  I shake my head. “No, Mari, we can’t go yet. Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll get you something to eat. We can rest up, and you can stay with us.”

  She turns and carries her bag
to the car, plunks it down next to the passenger door.

  I start to tremble. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s a ghost, not really aware of me. “Mari.”

  She comes around the car. For just one second, I see a glint of steel in her hand, but she slips whatever it is into her pocket.

  She pushes the sleeves of her hoodie up a little. There are bandages around her wrists, and long, deep red streaks up her arms.

  “Mari! What is going on? What did you do to yourself?” I step toward her.

  She shakes her head. “Kelly, please. I’m really upset. It’d be so nice if we could just go. You know, leave? Like we planned it.” She pushes her sleeves back down.

  “Fine. Let me call Andrew.” I pull my phone from my back pocket.

  “No. Don’t call.” Her hand goes into her pocket, and she shakes her head again. No, no, back and forth as though she’s trying to get something out of her head. “Can we just go? I think we need to just go.” Her voice rises, tight and small. “When I think about staying here, it starts to hurt so bad…” She leaves off and both hands go into her pockets.

  It’s a gun. She has a gun in her pocket. I can see the outline of it. I’m sure of it.

  “Mari? Let’s get you some help. Please, let me help.” I try to smooth my voice out, soothe her.

  “Let’s just go. Please? Please, I just want to go.”

  I breathe in through my nose, try to slow my heart down. I still have my phone in my hand. “Mari, I can’t leave right now. The boys will wonder. I can’t leave without them. Andrew will worry.” I start to text him.

  She snatches the phone out of my hand and backs up. “No. I can’t wait. I can’t stand it. I need for us to go.” She slips my phone into her pocket.

  There is a gun in that pocket. She’s already tried to harm herself. I can’t call for help. I swallow hard. Things are unraveling.

  I rush to pack something while Mari follows me around, her eyes wide and wild and watchful.

  I keep praying that Andrew will come home from set, that Mom and Dad will cut the “nature sleepover” short and bring the boys back. But it’s after ten, and no one’s due home. I told Mari I had to pack. I try to buy time, stall, but she watches my every move.

  I don’t have much of a plan if she forces me to leave. Get in the car and drive and keep driving through the night. She’ll fall asleep. She looks exhausted. Then I can call 9-1-1, get her help. Let Andrew or Tucker know where we are.

  “Kelly, we need to go.” She ushers us back out the front door. I stand on the front step. “We’re going. Get in the car.”

  “Mari.” I whisper. “Please.”

  She looks me in the eyes. “We have to go. I can’t stay here another second. Please.” Tears stream down her cheeks.

  I get in the car, and we drive.

  She holds my phone in one hand, keeps the other hand deep in her pocket. We drive north. My phone beeps once before she turns it off.

  “Was that Andrew? I should text him. He’ll be worried.”

  “No. It was Tessa.”

  “Let me tell Andrew where we’re going. He should know we’re going to the Oregon house. He’ll be so worried.”

  “We just need to get there, and I’ll feel better. I know it.” She looks at me again, and I see that her pupils are wide with adrenaline.

  I am in danger.

  35: I’m So Into You

  TUCKER CALLS ME IN MY TRAILER. I left yesterday at six a.m. to wrap up this shoot. We’ve got three days left. Last night we shot until midnight, and I collapsed here on the couch. Kelly knew not to expect me. My call was at four thirty this morning. It’s three p.m. now. There’s no point in even trying to go home when the hours are whacked out like this. We’ve been shooting for fourteen to sixteen hours straight most days/nights to push and finish on time.

  I get up and pace while I talk. But there’s not much room. On this indie movie, my trailer really is a trailer. Someone lent the production company an old Airstream. It’s nice, but I’m used to multimillion dollar budgets, not shoestring. I’ve gotten spoiled. I hate to admit it, but it’s true.

  “Andrew, I think your gut instinct might have been right all along.”

  “What?”

  “Amanda.”

  “What about her?”

  “After two days of investigation, nothing panned out on Devon. He was in NYC when you got pushed, but he was uptown tutoring a Broadway star’s little twins. He has an airtight alibi for the incident at The Ivy too. But guess who didn’t?” Tucker’s eyes are wide.

  “Amanda? She was there, Tucker, because she was there with Jeremy.”

  “The paparazzo just rolled. She paid him to slash your tires.”

  Holy shit. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not a bit. Police questioned him again about the fire alarm pull and the tires. I guess he claims she pulled the alarm, and he did the tires. It’s looking good.”

  “Unbelievable.” I shake my head.

  “Totally believable. As you know, she’s been crazy since you started filming The Bull, the Bear.”

  “So, what next?”

  “Why don’t you go home early to that almost-wife of yours and let her know the case is close to wrapping? She’ll be thrilled, I bet.”

  “The press will freak when they find out about this.”

  “It’s not going to leak anytime soon. There’s a mountain of investigation still to do. They have to tie her to all of it, if they really want to throw the book at her. No way do they want all the media to muck it up while she’s still under investigation.”

  I stand up. “I think they need to throw a very thick book at that woman. But right now, I need to go home to my woman.”

  Tucker laughs. “I’m hanging up. I’ll call you later if I know more.”

  When I open the door to the house, I can tell something’s not right. After so many years of living alone, with Kelly and the boys in my life, usually I can feel the extra bodies in the house. And I love it. I grew up with two sisters, and I liked a big crowd, so the cavernous LA houses I lived in after I found success sucked.

  But the house is empty. I know the boys are with their grandparents. But where is she?

  “Kelly?” I call up the curved staircase. No answer. I walk out the back, to the yard, thinking she’s out at the pool.

  After a two-minute walk around the rest of the house, I dial Kelly’s number. None of this sits well. Something is wrong. Kelly can lay claim to women’s intuition all she wants, but this is my time to tell something’s bad. My heart pounds as her phone rings.

  And it goes to voice mail. That’s not right. She answers. She always answers my calls.

  I call Tucker. “Tuck, where’s Kelly?”

  “What?” He sounds relaxed.

  “She’s not here. Have you talked to Kelly?”

  “Is her car in the garage? Maybe she took Ditto on a walk.”

  “No, Kelly’s parents took the boys and the dog. Kelly should be home.” I jog to the garage. Her car is gone. “No car.”

  “Andrew, there’s a million places she could be. Call her.”

  “I did. She’s not answering. I have a bad feeling about this, Tuck.”

  “Why?”

  “Kelly told me night before last that she was worried about Mari. She got some texts from her.”

  “About what?”

  “She said she was dealing with very traumatic stuff. She hinted that Mari might hurt herself.”

  “And what are you thinking?”

  “What if we’re wrong about Amanda? What if it’s Mari? What if she wouldn’t hurt herself—but she might hurt someone else?”

  “Andrew, where do you think they are?”

  I run back up the stairs, into the bedroom, and pull open the closet door. Kelly’s closet is in disarray, clothes all over the floor. Her suitcase is gone. “She’s gone. Tucker, I think this is bad. Kelly and I talked about going to Oregon. She wanted to go alone, take Mari, maybe Tessa, but we decided to
go when I was done shooting. She wouldn’t just up and leave after we decided. And she wouldn’t leave without the boys. No way.”

  “I’ll be right there. Try calling Tessa.”

  “Why?”

  “If she had changed her mind, she would have told you, right? If she couldn’t tell you, maybe she talked with someone else before she was in a position not to talk.”

  “How could this happen? She’d tell me if she’d changed her mind.”

  “Which means something happened that kept her from doing that.”

  “Jesus, Tucker, get over here. We’ve got to find them. She’s thirty-seven weeks pregnant!”

  “I’m coming right now. I’ll get California Highway Patrol on board. We’ll find them, Andrew.”

  “Hurry, Tucker. If anything happens to her, my God…”

  I can’t even finish. I end the call and race from bedroom to bedroom, check the bathroom. Whatever happened, it was rushed. Her closet is a mess.

  The coast. Up the coast to Oregon. Oh my God. Mari is fucking crazy, and my fiancée is headed up Highway 101 with her? Is Mari holding her hostage? What the hell?

  I replay the conversation from night before last. “I’m worried she might do something.”

  Kelly offered up the house in Oregon as a place to gather Mari’s scattered self. A quiet place. But she wouldn’t leave by herself. We’d decided. We talked about Mari, talked about my worries specifically. I know Kelly. I know she wouldn’t leave while the boys were away, and I know she understood how I felt.

  I try Kelly’s cell again. No luck. I text her again; no response.

  I check the weather. It’s clear right now, but there’s a huge storm coming in. There are winter storm advisories all up and down the Pacific coastline.

  Kelly is in danger, and a storm’s bearing down on her.

  If anything happens, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  I call Tessa. No answer.

  Desperate, I look up the number for Joe, Tessa’s husband, at his practice in Boise. If Tessa’s not answering, maybe he knows where she is.

  The receptionist answers and reluctantly patches me through when I lie and say Joe is waiting for me to consult on a patient of his.