“I had always planned to tell Maisie the truth, when she was old enough to handle the fact that her mother had abandoned her and her father had lied to give her the illusion of a happy childhood. No, not an illusion. Thanks to Jake, she’s had a childhood of love and giggles.”
Delaney paused to look up. Katie had no words.
“When she first asked about her mother, Maisie was four. Kids in preschool can be so cruel. One of them taunted her about having two dads. I told her that Katelyn had been swept away in a rip current when we were visiting Ocean Isle, because that trip was the last happy memory I had of us. Lies often conceal the truth, don’t they?
“What I did back then, I did for Maisie. I had to put her first, as I know Katelyn did when she agreed to my terms. I was barely holding things together even before her suicide letter arrived, and what little strength I had left belonged to Maisie. Please tell Katelyn it was the lawyer’s idea to go after her parental rights. He convinced me it was the logical—safe—decision, and given the events of the last year, I agree. I’m happy again, Delaney, finally happy. I fell in love with an amazing young woman, an ex-student, and we got married in April. We’re expecting our first child in November.”
Katie grabbed the chain around her neck. The young woman in the car.
Delaney reached over and touched her hand. “You want me to stop? I can give you the précis.”
Katie blew out a breath and shook her head. She kept breathing, just breathing.
“I know that Katelyn loved us before things went so terribly wrong. I hope she received the help she needed; I hope she also found her second chance.
“As I try and figure out the best way forward for my new family, I know it’s time to cut the last remaining tie. There will be no more photographs of Maisie. Ten is such a milestone. It was huge for me. The year I left childhood behind. I know this will be hard for Katelyn, and I’m sorry to cause her more pain. As always, I’m doing what I feel is in Maisie’s best interests. He sends his regards, blah, blah, blah.” Delaney folded the letter and eased it back into the envelope.
Using the hem of her T-shirt, Katie polished the gold ring dangling between her breasts.
“Talk to me,” Delaney said. “You okay?”
“No. No, I’m not. I feel as if one of those Clydesdale horses kicked me in the gut.”
“I guess you’ll back out of the Raleigh thing now.”
Katie slapped both her hands on the table. “And why would I do that?”
“The ground rules have changed. He has a new family, and he’s pulling the plug.”
“I’m happy his life turned out well, but—”
“Bullshit. Like hell you are. I’m certainly not.”
“He’s asking me to stay away for his sake and for wife number two. Not for Maisie. What’s going to happen when the baby arrives? Who’s going to put Maisie’s interests first?” Katie snatched the letter back from her sister. “All these years I’ve been working on the assumption she’s better off without me. Now I know she’s not. This letter”—Katie held it up—“is a red flag. Maisie’s about to hit a crisis point.”
“Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”
“The director of the art museum told me she’s in the docent program because she’s anxious about starting middle school. And now we’re adding a new mom and a new baby? Do you need a reminder of the hell OCD put us through after we moved back here? And that was a decision I controlled. This is like throwing dynamite on a bonfire. With that much change, Maisie’s OCD will think Christmas has come four months early.”
“Sis, I hear you. But we can’t pop back up in Maisie’s life. We both know about abandonment issues. You think Maisie’s going to roll out the welcome mat? And while you’re talking about anxiety, learning your dead mother’s alive is one cataclysmic trigger for stress.”
“You think I would do that to Maisie? She’ll only know I’m alive if Cal tells her. It won’t ever come from me.” Katie tasted vomit and swallowed. “Maisie knows me as an artist who had a funny turn when we met. I can explain I had an anxiety attack. I can reach out, talk to her about the noise in my head. What if I can get her to open up?”
“What if you can’t?”
“What if I can? What if New Mom isn’t up to the job of mothering a child with a broken mind, because she’s too busy with a baby? Who’s going to be Maisie’s guide, her support? The man who doesn’t believe in therapy, the man who failed to understand the same problem once before?” Katie thumped the table; the guys next to them stopped talking. “With the journey Maisie’s about to take, it might be easier coming from a stranger.”
“Stop right there. You’re not a stranger.”
“And you’re missing the point. I might not be an actor of Jake’s caliber, but I’ve been in rehearsal for nine years. I can do this.”
“And how are you going to get close to her without Callum or Jake recognizing you?” Delaney said.
“I’ve checked Cal’s teaching schedule, and chances are high New Mom will be handling the pickup. I’m pretty sure that was her yesterday. She certainly looked young enough to be an ex-student.”
“And what if Callum sees you and thinks you’ve come to kidnap Maisie? What if he calls the cops or gets a judge to issue a restraining order? Have you thought about what all of this could mean for you?”
“I gave up my life to keep my baby safe, and then I agreed to a ridiculous deal when I was barely functional because I thought it was in my daughter’s best interests. That’s no longer the case.”
“Shhh. People are looking.”
“You think I care?”
Delaney leaned across the table. “Why don’t I get word to Callum that we think Maisie might have OCD, based on your medical history?”
“He won’t believe you. He didn’t listen when I tried to tell him what was going on in my head. What if he reacts that way with Maisie? Who will she turn to?”
“Jake, she’ll go to Jake.”
“You don’t know that.”
Delaney looked away. “I would give my right eye for another chance with Maisie, but please, don’t do this. I can’t go through full-blown OCD again.”
Katie stared into the night. “I won’t let that happen.”
“Can you promise me? Can you?”
“I have an agreement with Ben. If it gets bad, if I see the precipice coming, I’ll call him.”
“That’s your backup plan? A guy who gets so lost in work he forgets he has a hot date? A guy whose only experience with anxiety is fretting over me wearing flip-flops to the studio?”
“He’s a fast learner, and I’m pulling big sister rank. This conversation is at an end.” Katie finished her latte. “Cal’s remarried and he’s expecting a second child? Whoopee for him. But I’m Maisie’s mother, and I will be until the day I die. And you know what? Cal sent that letter because part of him is worrying about my intentions. Good, great. Let him worry. I’m taking action, and Cal can go to hell.”
As Katie stood up, the OCD crawled back in. Wrapped around her heart, squeezed tight. Told her she was a phony, a fake mother.
I’m angry. I could use that anger to hurt someone.
Katie closed her eyes, breathed in through her nose, and imagined a thin black line floating around her head like a halo. Exhaling slowly, she pushed the line down over her eyes, her nose, her lips, and let it rest on her chin. Another inhale and she pushed the line down her neck to her shoulders. What about the homicidal anger? I’m not dealing with you right now, OCD. She pushed the line slowly down across her torso and arms, down her wrists and hands, and out through her fingertips.
Katie opened her eyes and, ignoring Delaney, snatched up her bag. Anger didn’t make her homicidal, but it was a legitimate response. She would go back to her apartment and sit with her rage. Embrace it and then toss it in the garbage along with that last—ridiculous—molecule of hope. There would be no second chance for her marriage, but Delaney was wrong. This was not the end of
the story. This was the beginning.
She ripped Cal’s letter into a hundred fragments.
And put them in her bag to take home and recycle.
EIGHT
CALLUM
As they swung back and forth on Jake’s porch swing, Maisie chattered away about some artist she’d met through the docent program. A living wall of holly and mature trees, swaddled in something Jake insisted was not poison ivy, concealed them from the quiet residential street in historic Hillsborough. The shoe-box house on the shady lot had been split into two apartments and modernized, but the yard was snake heaven, as evidenced by an elderly neighbor’s recent copperhead bite. Imagining Maisie on the lawn was enough to bring Callum out in hives.
Maisie kept talking; he kept struggling to pay attention. The disturbed nights were beginning to exact a hefty toll. Focus was an issue right now, whether listening to Maisie, his students, or Lilah. Picking up coffee from Cup-A-Joe before he hit the highway might be wise if he didn’t want to nod off at the dean’s dinner table.
Callum squinted at the abstract metal sculpture of circles and spikes in the far corner of the porch. No matter how many times he looked at it, he saw severed heads on spears. When he had shared this observation with Jake, Jake commented, in a wry tone, it might be time to consider therapy.
“Daddy,” Maisie said, “you are not paying attention.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I was lost in the moment with my daughter.”
Maisie combed her hair with her fingers and thumb held in an odd way. She’d never done that before, but it seemed familiar. “Are you worrying about Uncle J, too?”
“Worrying about Jake? No. Should I be?”
She tapped her watch. “He’s ten minutes late.”
“Friday traffic.” Callum tried to smile. “Which I will also hit on the drive back to Raleigh. I liked it better when your Uncle Jake lived closer.”
“But, Daaaddy! This cottage is super awesome.”
Maisie stretched her arms wide as if to say, Look at this kingdom. A small, well-trimmed patch of lawn disappeared over a steep slope with the bamboo railing and stone steps that Jake had constructed one weekend. The flower bed of hostas—the only plants Callum could identify, because Katelyn had labeled them deer food—circled the huge magnolia tree, the only tree he could identify, because of Jake.
On the other side of the yard, Jake’s bottle tree lit up a dark corner with glass in every color imaginable. Jake, the master set builder, had created a grotto that welcomed you into his hidden world. Except for the doormat that said “LEAVE.”
And then there was the snake problem, which was why Callum insisted Maisie play inside. She even had her own reading nook in the main room, created from netting, strings of white lights, and the old baby lamp he’d attempted to donate to a thrift store. Maisie had a hard time accepting change. She clung to the past, when all he wanted was to dash for the future.
“This place is perfect for a ghost story,” Maisie said. “I think I’ll start writing one this weekend.”
Callum gave a mock shiver. “I love that you write ghost stories. I’ve always been too much of a wuss for anything spooky. A good bump in the night and I’ll be hiding under the bed while you’ll be investigating with a flashlight and a poker. Thank goodness I’ve got you to protect me.”
“Oh, I will always do that, but you’re not a wuss, Daddy. You’re super sensitive, and that is very cool. But this place is really, really old.”
“Nineteen thirties isn’t that old. Not when you come from Scotland.”
“Older than Grammy.”
“Let’s not share that with your grandmother, okay?”
The blue Honda Fit with the bike roof rack pulled up to the curb, music blaring through the open windows.
“Uncle J!” Maisie pushed off the porch swing and flew toward the car.
Thunder rumbled, and Callum’s gut twisted up the way it always did when he thought about leaving Maisie. The music died, the driver’s door slammed, and Jake stepped into view wearing strategically ripped jeans—was the fashionable term distressed?—and a crumpled blue linen shirt. Not exactly Jake’s typical working attire.
Jake caught his eye and winked. “Lunch date ran late, sorry. Darlin’!” He lifted Maisie and swung her around. “I got you that present your daddy okayed.” He put Maisie down and held up a plastic bag.
Maisie clapped her hands and squealed. “My very own phone. Thank you, Uncle J! You’re the best.”
Callum hadn’t actually okayed the purchase of a phone. He merely gave up trying to out-argue Jake and Lilah, who teamed up to insist it was a necessary evil after Maisie and Ava Grace went missing in the forest behind their house for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes that had eviscerated him.
Jake took Maisie’s hand, and together they walked across the front yard and up the steps of the porch. “Split, man. Get on I-40 before the traffic backs up. You and Lilah Rose enjoy your night out.”
“At the dean’s house,” Callum said.
“Maybe he’s grooming you for chair.”
“Can’t think of anything worse. Less family time.”
“Got me there. Who would ever want to be apart from our number-one girl?”
“Uncle J.” Maisie made the slashing motion across her throat that signaled Cut the crap.
“Getting too big for compliments, are we? Or do we keep those for the cute boy who watches you at school pickup?”
“What boy?” Callum frowned.
A bright white grin lit up Jake’s tanned face. “I’ll extract a full confession before you and Lilah Rose get home.”
“Daddy, Uncle J.” Red-faced, Maisie put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “You both know the boys spy on us at recess because they are very immature and don’t use their time wisely. All they know how to do is post silly videos of pillow fights on YouTube.”
Thunder rumbled again, but the sky directly above was cerulean.
“Storm’s pulling north,” Jake said. “Go. Have fun and forget about us. We have our own Friday-night plans, starting with the Riverwalk and dinner at Hillsborough BBQ, and ending with a movie back at home if there’s time.” He turned to Maisie. “No more vomit-icious Disney fairy tales. I vote for The LEGO Movie. And yes, Dad. I’ll make sure her light’s out by nine.”
“Can we do a PG-13?” Maisie’s eyes grew wide.
“No,” he and Jake said in a chorus of dissent.
“That’s not fair.” Maisie pouted. “Ellie’s allowed to.”
Because her father wants to antagonize his ex-wife. “Movie ratings exist for a reason,” Callum said. “To protect you from exposure to things that are not age appropriate.”
“I’m old enough for smushy bits, and Star Wars—”
“Was a birthday exception.” Callum sighed. “Can we not do this now? Please, peanut? I have to leave. Come here and give me a Maisie hug. I love you.”
Maisie threw her arms around his waist. “Love you, too, Daddy, even if—”
“Nah-ah, you know my main rule. Neither of us can walk away if one of us is angry.” He held on and swayed from side to side.
“I’m not angry.”
“Glad to hear it.” He smacked a kiss on top of her head and turned to Jake. “I doubt we’ll be home before eleven, but I’ll have my phone on vibrate.”
“Stop fussing and get your ass off m’ porch.”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Maisie grinned up at Jake. “Get your—”
“Language, you two.” Callum tried to sound stern, although part of him wanted to say, Go for it, act out. Maisie loved to argue her point, but she never broke a rule without permission.
As Callum headed back to the car, his mind imitated a gerbil scrambling on an exercise wheel. Every day, he saw more of Katelyn in Maisie. In her behavior, not in her appearance, since Maisie’s hair announced her as a MacDonald. Oh, God. The hair.
His mind spun faster, this time remembering Katelyn. Remembering wrapping his fingers in her long black
hair while he thrust deep inside her. The sex, until Maisie was born, had been intense. The fantasies troubled him for years. But there was another memory underneath: Katelyn twisting her own hair. Twisting it on one side, and then the other. Katelyn twisted, Maisie straightened, but the two habits were startlingly similar.
NINE
JAKE
Cicadas were singing his favorite song, and some bird farther up the Riverwalk chimed in with a chirp as sweet as honey. A horn blared in the parking lot behind them, and distant traffic rumbled. Could be it was heading into downtown Hillsborough on Old 86; could be it was speeding along the interstate that followed the historic Occaneechi trading path.
Jake inhaled the toe-curling southern heat with a slow smile and took in his surroundings. The tall yellow flowers on the riverbank glowed, and the wooden boards of the bridge bounced as a cyclist shot past. Beneath them, the Eno moseyed along in a lazy ebb, reflecting the sky. The orange light—the one that flattered every skin tone—was perfect for filming.
A raggedy group of red-faced high school kids jogged past. Some sadistic coach must be putting them through their paces. If he were a parent, he’d sure have problems with his kid running in this heat. He glanced at Maisie, arms flung through the railing of the bridge as if reaching for the reflection of the sun. She’d been kinda quiet since leaving the cottage. Lost in her own world wasn’t a strange state of being for ’Mazing Maisie, but this amount of silence meant something was brewing in her supercomputer brain.
“That docent program still floatin’ your boat, darlin’?”
“Oh, yes.” Maisie stared down at the river. Tiny ripples broke the smooth surface. “I met this super awesome artist called Katie Mack.”
“Cool name.” Although K. M. as a pair of initials stood for nothing good. “Shoot, I nearly forgot.” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded-up one-dollar bills. He counted nine and handed them over.
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