Forget You Know Me

by Jessica Strawser

  If Daniel saw Liza, he’d want to know why she was there.

  And when Molly tried to explain it away, it would be two against one, their skepticism versus her stoicism. Not a fair fight.

  Molly had thought he would never leave. He’d been in no hurry to get to the office. After all, if not for his canceled morning meetings and his sudden, unusual zeal to rush home in the wee hours, he wouldn’t have been expected back until afternoon. Once upon a time, he’d have taken the whole day off and she’d have followed suit. A gorgeous morning like this, they’d have loaded a cooler with snacks and beer and hoisted the canoe atop the SUV and driven out to Cowan Lake, or splurged and paid the fee at Morgan’s livery to catch a ride upriver.

  It used to be a bigger deal, to leave each other. They’d be lavishly attentive before the good-bye, dining out like it was a special occasion, and on the days apart never go to bed without a telephoned—never texted—good night. Returns home brought a compulsive closeness—clinginess, really—that could last even longer than the absence had been.

  These days, they circled each other, heads down, silent partners tag-teaming a to-do list that would never be finished, and scarcely acknowledged arrivals and departures beyond a thank God you’re back; please can I get a hand.

  This morning was no exception. Molly jumped at the chance to reassign Nori’s drop-off, which defaulted to her given that Nori attended preschool at the nature center where Molly worked. Today, though, crews were coming to repair flood damage to the main building, and displaced employees had the day off. After Grant bounded onto the school bus, Molly feigned a headache—easy enough, when she had one every other day—and asked Daniel as sweetly as she could to take Nori, out of his way though it was. He’d obliged just begrudgingly enough that she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. And so, after a maddening rehashing of where exactly to go and what was Nori’s teacher’s name again, Molly had been left mercifully alone to get better acquainted with the latest of her mistakes.

  She’d been so stupid, about everything. No chance would Daniel avoid hearing about last night—word of flashing lights spread fast across the semi-affluent suburbs. She’d already fielded her share of concerned texts and voicemails from neighbors, and it would be a miracle if he lasted the day at work without the same. Yet she’d been unable to bring herself to tell him—which meant she’d likely missed her chance to be the one to tell him.

  Which was only going to make things worse.

  If that were possible.

  “Just a false alarm,” she’d told those who asked.

  She wouldn’t get off so easy with Daniel.

  No, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she could avoid telling her husband what had happened—or almost happened, or allegedly happened. But evidently she was cowardly enough to put it off, nonsensically. How now to explain why she didn’t call him right that second, let alone rush him with the news this morning?

  She was so good at this—making things worse.

  She did it to herself all the time.

  It was almost funny, how suddenly the fear of losing him seized her. Months—years?—had passed since their relationship had felt like the forevermore given solidified in their vows.

  She could caption this particular freeze-frame of herself the way she did the flora and fauna displays at the nature center. Left to right: bad judgment, unconvincing cover-up, blind panic. She knew she needed to improve upon the caption, but first she needed, impossibly, to reach through the glass and alter the picture.

  It was like half-waking in the cold night air and reaching for the covers only to find none. Anyone with sense would get up and retrieve another blanket from the closet, but all she could do was lie here, shivering. She’d once been adept at thinking faster. But the pain that plagued her body had not spared her mind.

  The path into the woods at the back edge of their property started as little more than a deer trail, newly rimmed with violets and trilliums, and she headed down it, careful not to trample the blooms. Ahead were the limestone steps, lopsided and muddy where by the end of the summer they’d be coated in moss. She’d been delighted the first time she’d found this hidden detour to the older house at the end of the long, paved drive behind hers.

  “Look,” she’d later told the kids. She’d always wanted to be one of those moms who made the ordinary seem magical. “Whoever lived in this house and that one must have been best friends.” It wasn’t true, of course. The path and house both predated their own by several decades, and she sometimes imagined what had previously occupied their little square of suburban sprawl. A makeshift baseball diamond, like the one by her father’s childhood home? A sunlit garden? A flat lawn? The house on the hill had none to speak of, only several tiers of decks overlooking what had surely then been a lovelier view.

  Really, it didn’t matter what used to be there, only that she wished with a sudden intensity that the path had never existed at all.

  She had to pause on the top step to catch her breath.

  She was going to need it.

  Rick answered the door keys in hand, one arm in and one arm out of a chocolate brown corduroy blazer. A Disney Channel theme song was blaring through the backlit kitchen doorway on the far side of the living room.

  “Molly.” His eyes lit up as they never failed to, even in a rush. Behind him, his phone buzzed at the edge of the entryway table, and he glanced at it distractedly, then back at her. “What’s up?”

  His hair was damp, his skin shiny from the aftershave that tingled her nostrils, tempting a sneeze, and she remembered that he was bidding on a new job this morning, a high-end one.

  She might have thought him handsome once, out of his standard-issue contractor T-shirt and cargos, but not today. Not tomorrow, either.

  “How could you?” she blurted. The phone vibrated again, and she fixed her gaze on the glowing rectangle, which was so much easier to look at, just now, than Rick was. It was so close to the edge, right there on the brink. One more buzz and it might fall to the tile and shatter.

  He blinked. “How could I what?”

  She swept past him into the living room, bargaining that Rosie would be zoned out to the TV in her booster, out of earshot. Usually Molly felt almost more at home here than she did in her own, but the air now seemed stale, and she realized the full impact of what she’d lost, what would never be the same.

  When she whirled around to face him, tears were springing to her eyes.

  “I don’t even know what to say. Do you know what I had to deal with last night? This morning? Do you know what you put at risk?”

  Rick stood, startled, at the closed door, his hand still clutching the knob. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You didn’t stick around to know, did you? I mean, I can understand being thrown when you saw her. But shutting the screen and running was the best you could come up with? And not a word from you since?” The words poured out, fast and hot, and a surge of anger displaced the sadness that had stilled her just seconds before.

  “I am utterly lost here.” He stepped toward her, reached out to touch her arm. She was shaking, all over. “Molly, my God, take a breath. Tell me what happened.”

  “It was an offhand comment, a joke. I mean, I shouldn’t have said it—clearly! But I can’t believe you actually did it. You thought that’s what I really wanted? That was how I saw it happening, after all this time? The fact that you could think that…”

  He was shaking his head, leaning in, trying to hold her gaze. “Molly. You’re not listening. I don’t know what you’re talking about! What comment? Is this—are you messing with me?”

  She shook off his hand. She wasn’t just mad at him. She was furious with herself.

  She had let herself love him, a little. She had so desperately needed a friend.

  “Act One,” she said drolly. “Make a bad call, run like the wind, leave Molly to clean up the mess. Act Two. Pretend it never happened, pretend it wasn’t you, play dumb.
Can you give me a preview of Act Three, so I can brace myself for the exciting conclusion?”

  He looked past her, and Molly turned to see Rosie, cherubic in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a purple butterfly-print dress that had once been Nori’s, gray leggings, and suede lavender boots, and her curly pigtails bounced as she ran for Molly. The sight of her jabbed at the center of Molly’s chest, and she bent to scoop the child into her arms, holding her in a long hug as she blinked away her tears.

  Rosie pulled back and smiled at her, patting her arm silently. Always silently.

  That is, until lately. She’d been making such progress. Nori seemed to be the key—to unlocking whatever emotional hitch had made Rosie all but mute, to helping the words flow. They’d become pros at playing the therapist’s game, tramping around the nature center and occasionally sitting right here on the carpet. Brave talking, it was called.

  Right.

  If only the girls didn’t both have cowards for parents—not cheaters in the game, but imposters, pretenders, waiting to be caught.

  She supposed it had only been a matter of time. But what would become of poor Rosie’s progress now?

  Rick caught her eye, looking from his daughter’s face to hers, acknowledging the conversation stopper as if to indicate that he was not to blame for all that was about to be left unresolved. “I’m horribly late,” he said apologetically.

  He looked, she had to admit, as sincere as he did confused. “Clearly this is important,” he said. “But can we do this later? I’m so sorry, but I can’t afford to lose another job.” Rick relied on his deceased wife’s parents for child care and, though he wasn’t ungrateful, struggled with their disregard of boundaries—especially in how they almost relished the way his daughter had retreated into herself, as if this proof of their shared grief was a comfort. They brushed past his pleas for them to participate in Rosie’s treatment, and thus he tried to minimize his daughter’s time there—at no small expense to his contractor work. Molly had admired his sacrifice but now wondered if she’d been too much on his side. There were at least two sides, after all, to every story.

  “By all means, go.”

  She kissed Rosie on the cheek and handed her over, heading for the exit without a backward glance. “Let’s not do it later,” she said to the door. “I think it’s better to keep a little distance right now. Indefinitely.”

  She swung the door open and then he was behind her, gripping it, still holding Rosie. She risked a glance back and felt a rush of anger at the both of them, the way they stretched her heart.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Look, whatever this is about, you have to know I’d never—”

  She took a step back, her hands in front of her, warding him off. “You already did,” she said, the tears coming loose. She turned away so Rosie wouldn’t see, and kept moving, down the stairs, down the path.

  She had to admit, he did look baffled. Either he was putting on a decent show, or—

  Jesus. Or what?

  What if it really wasn’t him? If not him, then who?

  A cutting fear gripped her as her mind raced. No. It was him. It had to have been.

  “Molly. This is crazy. Come back.”

  But as she started to sob, she was already gone.

  6

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Max looked as doubtful as Liza felt. Midway home to Chicago, they’d hit rain—miserable, blinding sheets of it—and though it was finally starting to lessen, she’d risked a reprimand from building security by pulling into the wet service alley alongside his high-rise apartment to drop him off. The car might have been cozy under other circumstances, the rain pattering around them, the defroster vents humming, but the return drive had been grim, and the shadows of the city only intensified the exhaustion and concern pooling beneath his eyes.

  More than twelve hours ago, they’d hit the road for Ohio tingling with anticipation and, she was ashamed to think of it now, an odd excitement in their investigative, determined spirit. After the first hundred miles of going over and over the shocking turn her call with Molly had taken—recapping every detail until she forced herself to stop talking and let the poor man accompany her without subjecting him to relentless speculation—they’d actually turned on the radio and sung.

  The drive home, of course, had been quieter. Much quieter.

  “I’m as okay as I’m going to get for today. I’m so sorry.…”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

  “Well, given the reception we got, I think it’s safe to say our little road trip was ill conceived.”

  “Your friendship might have been ill conceived. The road trip was what any good friend would have done. And she’s lucky you made me stay in the car, because I would’ve—”

  Liza held up a hand. “Please. I’m sorry you witnessed any of it.”

  Maybe she should have been humiliated, but that wasn’t her style. It was Molly who’d cultivated a reputation for being easily embarrassed, for retreating inside herself at even the slightest perceived missteps. She’d been the girl who left the prom early when her dress ripped on the dance floor, even after Liza procured a mending kit to fix the tear. She’d been the woman who wouldn’t receive visitors in the maternity ward until her hair and makeup were photo ready. Who once withdrew her application for a job she was perfect for after discovering she’d misspelled her cover letter’s salutation. Liza could tell when Molly was in retreat mode, could sense when to leave well enough alone. But today had been something else entirely.

  Something more like damage control. Blind, stubborn, and against all reason.

  If Liza didn’t know better, she’d think she’d wronged her friend by witnessing the intruder.

  But she didn’t know better, did she? And she no longer wanted to. Nothing remained in this friendship for her. She’d denied the sad fact for too long, and now—well, now it was undeniable.

  “I’m not sorry,” Max said. “I’m sorry you were treated that way, but I’m not sorry I was there. I’d hate to think of you going through that by yourself.”

  Rarely was she reminded of what a good boyfriend Max could have been, of what she’d given up on that first date as easily as a hobby she’d barely tried—but it hit her now, the urge to follow him inside, nestle into his warmth under a thick blanket, and fall into a deep, comfortable sleep. She didn’t want to be alone but would never ask to follow him in, so certain was she that he would say yes. She smiled sadly. “I more than owe you one.”

  “If you say so. But first, I’m sleeping straight through to tomorrow morning.”

  The door thudded shut behind him, and the silence in the car stretched around her. Early-afternoon traffic was made heavier by the weather, and she crawled along rain-streaked blocks for a slow half mile to the only remotely affordable monthly pass garage within walking distance of her apartment—if you counted the long side of a mile as walking distance. Max had insisted on taking the L over last night just to make the trek in the dark with her.

  Liza pulled into her space, shouldered the duffel she’d packed for a just in case overnight that seemed laughable now, popped open her umbrella, and headed into the drizzle.

  Those little inconveniences Chicagoans learned not to mind—or even to enjoy, for all their urban charm—had never warmed to Liza, just as she’d never come to summon enough enthusiasm for a Burberry scarf or a Brynn Capella handbag to justify the price tag. She missed Cincinnati, where public transportation was horribly lacking, but at least she knew how to get anywhere she wanted, on her own schedule and in control of the wheel. She’d expected a new familiarity here that never came, and had only recently started allowing herself to contemplate going back, even if it would look like failure. Even if her old friends would blink at her and ask why on earth she would choose it when she was young enough and unattached enough to go anywhere, do anything. Be anyone. So many of them had lamented to her that they’d missed their own chances before put
ting down roots.

  Molly, for instance.

  Molly had seemed somewhat jealous of the move from the start, outwardly cheering her on in the change but looking, on the day Liza left, as if she wanted to either pull her back or come along. Maybe in some way her reaction had helped propel Liza, against her own will. Because the truth was, she had instantly regretted the decision, even before she’d followed through with it.

  Initially, Liza had talked about moving away the way many people do: As an occasional impulse she might be better off if she followed “one day” but would likely never act upon. And then she’d seen the job opening. It was similar to her then role at a respectable Queen City Hilton, only on a glitzier scale. She applied on a whim, her thoughts momentarily obscured by pictures of a presumably more interesting place, filled with presumably more interesting people—and, if she was honest, by the picture of her best friend having baby after baby with Daniel and ceasing to call. True, at that point Molly had only one infant and still called Liza almost daily, but surely the slide was only a matter of time. And so she’d uploaded her résumé, hastily whipping up a letter of intent extolling desires she’d not truly felt, much less expressed, until moments before, never expecting a response, much less an offer.

  She’d known the second she accepted that it was the wrong decision. Yet she’d convinced herself the sick feeling in her gut was only fear of change. She was Molly’s opposite in that respect: Rather than retreating from a misstep, she’d stand too proud to admit she’d taken one. Still, she figured Chicago would be good for her, even if she had to drag herself there. She hadn’t been happy going along as she was, watching her friends pass her up, watching chances pass her by.

  Now, though, no one could say Liza hadn’t given it a fair shot. And the fact that she and Molly had indeed drifted—well, perhaps it had merely been a self-fulfilling prophecy, helped along by the distance. Her oldest friend had still seemed an enticing perk of the imagined welcome back home package.