“Oh. Hey, Mom,” Trista said, smiling as though absolutely nothing was wrong, even though Kiera and Nate had told her hundreds of times that they didn’t want anyone in the house—especially Robbie—when they weren’t home.
Robbie eyed Kiera and Jon with a cold, reptilian deadness in his eyes. Kiera assumed they’d just smoked some weed and hoped—but doubted—that’s all they’d been doing.
“How many times do I—” she began, but she cut herself short, not wanting to get into it with both Jon and Robbie right there.
Trista regarded her mother with a bemused expression and, although she had no reason to feel guilty, Kiera felt funny having Jon drop her off at the house like this. Before anyone said anything else, Liz pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway and tooted the horn.
“We’re gonna go get something to eat,” Trista said as she and Robbie got into the Mustang. “See yah.” She slammed the car door, cutting off anything her mother might have to say to her.
Robbie started up his car, and the sound of the Mustang’s blown-out muffler made Kiera wince. If she’d had the energy, she would have done something to stop Trista from leaving, but the pain behind her eyes was throbbing stronger now. Tiny white dots of light zigzagged like fireflies across her vision. The car exhaust smelled like burning rubber, which made Kiera’s stomach churn.
“Be right with yah,” Jon yelled, waving to Liz, who was waiting in the car. When he took Kiera’s left arm to support her, he leaned close and whispered, “She can be such a bitch at times.”
“Who, Liz or Trista?” Kiera asked, but she paid scant attention to him as she watched Robbie back his car around. Behind the closed car window, his pale face looked corpselike. In spite of the humid weather, Kiera shivered as she watched them drive away.
“That kid’s not your favorite person, I take it,” Jon said.
Liz gave the horn another quick blast.
“He’s not a kid,” Kiera said. “He’s seven years older than she is, and he’s a—”
“A loser, far as I can see.”
Kiera shivered again as she stared down the road. The Mustang was long out of sight.
“The kind of person you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, that’s for sure,” Jon added.
“From what I know, he can’t hold a steady job. He lives in an apartment on Grant Street with some other reprobates.” Kiera turned to Jon. “What’s a grown man want with a teenager like Trista other than to take advantage of her?”
Jon shrugged and, pursing his lips, nodded his understanding. “Yeah, but—you’ve got to put your foot down. Once you let them walk all over you . . .”
“Easy for you to say,” Kiera said. “You and Liz never had any kids.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She didn’t know why Jon and Liz never had children. They hadn’t really talked about it since he came back to Stratford. It may have been a conscious decision to stay childless, or it may have been something biological, something they couldn’t help. She hoped she hadn’t hit a raw nerve without realizing it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Forget about it. No problem. Liz and I decided early on that we didn’t want kids.” Jon shot a quick glance at his wife’s car on the street. “Liz’s folks . . .” He blinked and looked up at the sky for a moment before continuing, “Let’s just say they weren’t the best role models on the planet. Being the oldest, she pretty much raised her brother. Even before we got married, she made it perfectly clear that she wanted no part of raising any more children.”
Kiera sighed and said, “The way things are today? I can’t say as I blame you. Trista’s all we got, and believe me, she’s more than enough.”
As she said this, she glanced at the door leading into the garage. Robbie hadn’t closed it when he left, and she assumed it had been carelessness on his part, not that he had left it open as a courtesy because she was home. She was sure Trista had told him all about how much her parents—especially she—complained about him.
The door loomed open on the sunlit wall, a dark rectangle that promised escape from the heat outside and safety within, but Kiera couldn’t bring herself to move. The muscles in her legs felt too loose. She was afraid she’d crumple to the ground if she took even a single step forward. A sudden surge of fear filled her, but she had no idea what she was afraid of. Thick sourness churned in her stomach, and the pain inside her head expanded until it filled her skull with a pulsing throb that kept time with her pulse.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, but she was far from convinced. She glanced at Liz’s car, sensing her increasing impatience and wishing she could tell Jon she was fine, that she could take care of herself from here, but tendrils of fear spread inside her like a fast-growing vine. The edges of her vision spun with darkness that threatened to close down on her any second.
Just get inside the house . . . Take some Tylenol . . . Lie down and rest, she told herself, but she still couldn’t move. She took a breath, but her lungs didn’t seem to fill up. As the air whistled in her throat, she pictured that her lungs were riddled with pinprick holes through which the air leaked. Fighting the rush of fear, she looked desperately at Jon. His face distorted and loomed closer with cartoon craziness.
“Let’s just get you settled inside, okay?” he said. His voice was distorted and wavered, dragging so badly she almost couldn’t make out what he said, but she nodded in agreement and let him take her by the arm. She leaned against him, but when he put his arm around her and held her tightly, she found it all the more difficult to breathe.
She was afraid she was going to pass out, but—somehow—they made it into the house. Jon directed her through the kitchen and down the short hallway to the living room. By the time he eased her onto the couch, the room was spinning. He placed one of the throw pillows under her head. She could barely focus as she looked up at him, but she could see the genuine worry in his expression.
“Promise me one thing,” he said. His words didn’t seem to match they way his mouth moved.
Kiera forced a smile as the pain in her head spiked.
“What’s that?” she asked, hearing her voice as if it was someone else, speaking in the next room.
“Call your doctor and make an appointment.” When Jon touched her forehead, his fingers were cool against her skin. She wondered if Nate would be this gentle and understanding with her if he was here, and for just an instant, she imagined she and Jon were married.
It could have been that way, she thought as she gazed at his warm, caring expression. We might not have broken up . . . We might still be together . . . if it hadn’t been for—
“Do you think . . .” she said. Her voice sounded sludgy, and she paused to lick her lips, unsure if he could hear, much less understand her.
“Think what?” Jon asked, bringing his face so close his warm breath washed over her skin. The moment was frighteningly intimate.
“Do you think this”—she tapped her forehead gently—“has anything to do with what happened to Billy?”
Jon’s expression instantly froze. Kiera had the terrifying impression time had actually stopped as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then, very slowly, Jon’s face shifted from sympathetic and caring to cold and harsh. The blood drained from his cheeks, making his lips look blue, as a cold glint of anger flashed in his eyes. In an instant, it was gone, but it had terrified Kiera.
“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it,” he whispered.
“But I—”
“Look, Kiera. What’s done is done. No matter what we think about it, there’s not a damned thing you or I or anyone else can do about it.”
“But I’ve been—”
“It’s over, and we’re going to forget about it. Right? You’ve got to stop punishing yourself so much.”
“Yeah, but I—” Kiera’s voice cut off as she took a shuddering breath and struggled to clear her head, but heated pressure was building up ins
ide her. “The night of the accident. Don’t you remember? I hit my head on the dashboard really hard.” Her fingers felt cold and clammy as she gingerly touched the skin above her left eyebrow. “What if I got some brain damage or something . . . something that hasn’t healed? What if that’s why I’m having these headaches?”
Jon rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling as he shook his head like he was dealing with a difficult child, but his expression was grim when he looked at her again.
“I’m just a real estate agent, not a doctor, so I wouldn’t know. If you’re really worried about it, then definitely you should see a doctor. I’ll make the appointment for you if you want.”
“No,” Kiera said, rolling her head from side to side even though that small motion sent waves of pain through her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it. Right now, all I want to do is sleep and try to get this pain to go away.”
Jon got up slowly from the couch and started backing out of the room. The whole time, he maintained steady eye contact with her. His sympathetic smile had returned, and Kiera was left wondering if she had imagined the flash of anger she had seen moments before. She sighed and closed her eyes, settling her head into the pillow.
“Who’s your doctor?” Jon asked. He was in the doorway, but his voice seemed to be coming from so far away it echoed.
With her eyes still closed, Kiera spoke so softly she thought she might only have thought it. “Dr. Schwartz.”
“On Upper Main?” Jon sounded so distant now his voice could have been one of her thoughts.
“. . . Don’t worry . . . I’ll call tomorrow . . . I promise . . .”
And then she drifted down into the darkness behind her eyes and was asleep.
2
“You know what it looks like? It looks like a door that’s open, and this bright light is shining inside it so bright I can’t see anything else.”
Nate sat on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on the mound of her hips as he touched the side of her face.
“You don’t have a fever. Is the pain gone?”
It surprised Kiera that he looked genuinely concerned for her. She winced when she raised her hand to her forehead and touched the spot above her left eyebrow. Even when she applied some pressure, all she felt was a dull numbness. She couldn’t believe her head had hurt so much just a few hours ago.
“Now, yeah, but I can’t tell you how scary it was . . . especially the visual part. The streak of light was . . . it happens just before the pain. Then . . . my God, it hits me like a freight train.”
“Did you call the doctor?”
Kiera shook her head, surprised that it didn’t hurt to move.
“Tomorrow.”
She hiked herself up on the couch, blinking as she looked around. She noticed for the first time that the living room lights were on, and the view outside the windows was black. “What time is it, anyway?”
Nate stretched out his arm and glanced at his wristwatch. “A little after ten.”
“You’re kidding.”
Kiera sat up but couldn’t stand because Nate was in the way. “I’ve been sleeping for—” She did a quick mental calculation. “—more than four hours?”
“Looks that way.” Nate shrugged. “What time did you get home from tennis?”
“I’m not sure. Jon drove me. It must have been four, maybe four thirty.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed them vigorously, still trying to fathom how she could have been out of it that long. The time had just disappeared. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had missed supper, but she was still nauseous and didn’t feel at all hungry.
“Ten o’clock,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. Then another thought struck her. She narrowed her eyes and looked at her husband. “Where were you?”
“Huh?” Nate said, not making eye contact with her.
“Are you just getting home? You can’t tell me you were at the school this late.” She cocked her head to one side and looked at him, her vision going double for a moment. “What were you doing out until ten o’clock?”
“I called and left a message. I went out for a few beers with Doug and Travis.” As if he could read her suspicions on her face, Nate pointed toward the kitchen. “Play the message if you don’t believe me.”
Kiera waved him off, trying to convince herself that she was being foolish to doubt him, but she’d had her suspicions over the years, enough to mistrust him at least a little.
“I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll take another dose of Tylenol and go to bed. I want to keep the headaches at bay if I can.”
“Can’t say as I blame you.”
Nate moved back so she could get off the couch. As she trudged up the stairs, Kiera knew he was right behind her, and she wondered why the first thing that popped into her head was that he was having an affair. This wasn’t the first time she’d had her doubts about his fidelity.
When she walked into their bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet to get the Tylenol, she wondered if maybe she thought that because earlier today, when Jon had been so solicitous to her, she’d had the fleeting impression that he was coming on to her . . .
Or maybe she still carried a spark for him.
No! . . . That’s ridiculous! she told herself as she ran the water until it was cold and filled a paper cup to wash down the Tylenol.
She and Nate weren’t perfectly happy together, but what couple was?
How could anyone who had been together for more than twenty years still feel the same level of passion?
It was perfectly normal for the initial rush of infatuation to fade. What bothered Kiera was realizing how long and gradual the erosion had been. Everyday things like jobs and money worries and children and life’s other myriad pressures had eroded the romance, but if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she had always felt a certain distance between her and Nate, and over the years, she had a sneaky feeling that he had not always been honest with her.
It’s just the way life goes, she told herself as she stared at her reflection. It was okay to think about the might have beens, the ways things could have been but never would be because of choices she’d made.
This was the life she had chosen, and no matter how guilty she might feel about things she had done—and not done—no matter how much she might suspect Nate was cheating on her, she had to be content with her life, because it was just the way it had turned out.
“You ’bout done in there?” Nate called from the bedroom. “I can use Trista’s bathroom if you’re gonna be a while.”
Kiera realized she’d been leaning against the sink and staring at her reflection in the mirror, almost hypnotized by the pale, glazed look in her eyes. She shook her head to clear it. The faucet was still running cold water, and because the drain was a little clogged, the water had risen and almost overflowed.
“I’ll be right out,” she called back, even though she hadn’t washed her face or brushed her teeth. She could do that once Nate was done. She turned the faucet off and walked back into the bedroom, moving slowly, her shoulders hunched with tension.
“Head still hurt?” Nate asked.
“Not really,” she replied. “I was just . . . thinking . . .”
“’Bout what?” Nate asked, but before she answered him, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She listened to the tinkling sound as he urinated, knowing without having to check later that he hadn’t bothered to raise the toilet seat. It was all so predictable.
“Nothing . . .”
She undressed quickly and tucked into bed before Nate came out of the bathroom. By then, she was too tired to get up and brush her teeth, so she waited until he turned off the light and then rolled over onto her right side, away from him. Staring into the darkness, she prayed that sleep would come . . .
3
. . . But it didn’t.
The seconds and minutes dragged slowly by as she lay in bed with her eyes wide open. Soon enough, her eyes began t
o adjust to the ambient light. She stared at the hazy outlines of their bedroom furniture—the walls—the open window. Still, especially at the edge of her vision, she caught glimpses of dark shapes that shifted against the darkness in the room . . . shapes that didn’t look like they belonged there. She tried to convince herself these were just tricks of the eye, but every now and then, she was sure she saw someone moving silently around in the darkened bedroom.
It hadn’t taken long for Nate to fall asleep. The slow, steady sound of his breathing filled the bedroom. Whenever he started snoring loud enough to bother her, she nudged him with her elbow . . . just enough so he’d roll over and stop snoring at least for a little while.
But Nate’s snoring was nothing compared to the worries that haunted her. Her nap on the couch had ruined any chance for sleep. There wasn’t even a hint of pain in her head now, but she knew it was still there, lurking just below the surface like a hungry shark . . . circling patiently . . . waiting to strike.
What worried her most was wondering what caused these attacks. She had a tendency to think the worst, so her first thought was that it had to be a brain tumor and, of course, it had to be the worst kind of tumor possible . . . malignant and inoperable.
Why else would she be seeing flashing lights?
The tumor was probably so big it was pressing against her optic nerve or the back of her left eye, causing the flashes of light and pain. She knew enough biology to know that the brain didn’t have any pain receptors, so who could tell how big the thing inside her head might be? She wouldn’t even know it was there until it started to affect other parts of her . . . like her eyesight.
A cold, sinking feeling of impending doom swept over her, chilling her in spite of the warm summer night. She shifted her gaze to the windows and watched as the lacy curtains billowed in and out with the gentle breeze. The fluttering motion, especially when she saw it from the corner of her eye, almost convinced her a ghost was lurking in the darkness, and as much as she tried not to, she couldn’t help but think back to that night so long ago . . .
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