Forget You Know Me

by Jessica Strawser

  “I think I saw him out front, when I was opening the blinds in Grant’s room. It definitely looked like someone from your work functions—I’m pretty sure I have the right guy.… Walking by real slow. Kind of gawking at the house.”

  Goddamn it. He never should have made Toby memorable for Molly, going on about the golf trips and the Hamilton tickets. But what the hell was Toby doing? They had a deal.

  He glanced up and saw her looking at him expectantly. “He doesn’t, but he did mention his sister lives in the neighborhood. With the dog that looks like it wants to chew my face off?”

  “Cathy is his sister?” Molly laughed. “I should have known. A family of irritants.”

  As soon as Molly was back inside, Daniel ran around to the front and stood, chest heaving, at the mailbox, looking in all directions. But there was no sign of Toby.

  Ever since Daniel had been sober and back on the ground, he’d been rethinking the reluctant promise he’d made two Bloody Marys in on that should-have-known-better flight. So he’d faked a few business trips over the years. It wasn’t really about finding some new slice. It was more about getting a break from the one he had—and though he wasn’t proud of it, he knew Molly had been just as grateful for the reprieves. What if he just walked away from the company—let Toby and himself both off the hook? Sure, the man would be pissed that he’d soon have a new Daniel to navigate, but pissed enough to follow through with his threats? More likely he’d just slink back to his lair and bide his time. Daniel didn’t need this job in a daily bread, paycheck-to-paycheck way. He had enough saved up to skate by for a few months, and maybe Molly could take on some extra hours until he found something new.

  He wouldn’t feel good about leaving his coworkers at Toby’s mercy, but that, too, he could rationalize. Toby wasn’t that smart. He’d get caught eventually, and the employees would get their funds back. Just because Daniel wouldn’t be the one to do the right thing didn’t mean the right thing wouldn’t eventually be done.

  But if Daniel was already rethinking their agreement terms, it stood to reason that Toby could be, too. What was he doing here?

  Daniel wanted to believe he was only visiting his sister. It was Sunday, after all. A day for family.

  Indeed, this was what Toby would claim when Daniel stormed red faced into HR Monday morning—but he wouldn’t bother to hide his amusement at seeing Daniel squirm.

  And so it was Toby’s smug face that floated through Daniel’s mind when the police arrived on his doorstop that evening.

  The second shot of the bad-luck hat trick.

  They came in a pair: the one who’d spoken to Daniel from his parked cruiser and someone more seasoned-looking and perhaps more important. But even as Daniel’s panic rose, they made it clear they were here for Molly, and his worries pivoted. What if she’d gotten Saturday’s party supplies from an actual dealer and not, as he’d assumed, some hippy-dippy yoga instructor?

  Daniel stood tall, arm around Molly’s shoulder, while the police explained that they were “just checking in,” “just once more,” while she assured them there was nothing she hadn’t already relayed and nothing new to tell. She hesitated, though, looked sidelong at Daniel as if she wished he weren’t there, and his blood ran cold.

  When the officers turned to him, it really did seem an afterthought in due diligence. “We realize you were away that night, Mr. Perkins, but anything else out of the ordinary?” And he couldn’t help thinking back to that first morning home and wondering anew how the hell Molly ever contemplated not telling him about this, even for a second, as if it would never come up again. He shook his head, all innocent and mystified, and finally they left.

  But he didn’t feel better. Because Molly left then, too. Apparently they had an urgent bread shortage that must be addressed immediately. One that caused trembling hands and an unnaturally high, tight voice.

  He supposed it was natural to be nervous talking to law enforcement. But he couldn’t help wondering whether she was running after them to ask something out of his earshot. Or hiding, perhaps, in case they returned. Or maybe, at best, just collecting herself.

  Either way, she left Daniel alone with the kids, on edge.

  A sitting duck for the rest of the trifecta.

  It was an innocuous enough thing, trying to help Nori with her ponytail. Not his specialty, though, and the elastic flung off his pointer and clocked some impressive yardage before skidding under the couch. When his fingers hit paper, he figured it was a discarded coloring book page or maybe one of those blow-in cards that rain from magazines. He had the thing half-crumpled before the numbers at the bottom caught his eye.

  What a lot of them, all in a row.

  And at the top, Molly’s name. Only: Molly didn’t have this kind of money.

  Which was obvious, he supposed, by the red stamp beneath the total. PAST DUE. It was followed by an impatient line of dates indicating that prior notices had gone ignored and a bold-print final warning that collections would be notified. Way past due. It was dated just a few months ago.

  The fantasy he’d had of walking away from his job, and his problems there with it, vanished, just like that.

  Daniel had already known he was in deep shit.

  What he hadn’t realized was that apparently Molly was, too.

  He needed to know the origin of this notice. He needed to know if there were others like it. He’d have to ask, eventually, but in the precarious state of things between them it would be delicate. Better to do some digging first. He had account balances to check, calls to make.

  Choices to regret.

  20

  “A piece of unsolicited advice,” Molly had once offered Liza, back when she’d bothered with attempts to match Liza’s single-woman-in-the-city stories with her own dispatches from suburbia. “If you’re ever invited to a dinner party where there will be children present, don’t go.”

  Funny that she was now hosting one, with Liza as the guest of honor. In Molly’s defense, it wasn’t her idea. And in Daniel’s, he didn’t really know better—and not just because he was oblivious to her rift with Liza.

  Daniel did not see these gatherings for what they were. The years had proven that no amount of subtle hint dropping or even out-and-out raging could change it: Whenever the rare delicacy of adult company was on the table, he helped himself to seconds, neglecting to notice that this meant Molly didn’t get her share. It was always Molly, never Daniel, who couldn’t get through a conversation without stopping an obnoxious number of times to reprimand Grant and Nori for things they knew better than to do. It was always Molly, never Daniel, who intervened when they were devouring the entire dessert tray. And it was always Molly, never Daniel, who’d excuse herself for “a minute” to put them to bed, only to spend an hour wrangling her (and, ahem, his) overtired offspring while he carried on downstairs, laughing away, refilling his drink, as if they had some unspoken arrangement that he need not concern himself. Which they did not.

  When Grant and Nori were babies, Molly had been convinced she was simply doing it wrong, this melding of the children into aspects of life she’d once enjoyed. But now she’d been to enough such nights hosted elsewhere to know it wasn’t just her. Some parents simply hid the futility of it all better than others, but the signs were there: in the gulps of wine downed too quickly in remote kitchen corners, in the tearful it’s not fair—he started it time-outs making rounds from one child to the next, in the unserved crudités splatting onto polished floors. The childless guests endured it only out of politeness, and the parents went home wishing they hadn’t bowed to guilt at the thought of leaving their children with a sitter after a long week of daycare. Why any of them bothered to continue trying was beyond her.

  Still, in this case, she was glad Daniel had included Grant and Nori in his invite to Liza. She was counting on their chaos to serve as a can’t help it excuse to remain busy busy busy during this reluctant reunion, even as she took steps to keep said chaos in check. Molly had fe
d the kids an early, easy chicken nugget dinner so they could simply singsong hiiii! to their aunt Liza and flit around, showing her things—Star Wars ships and princess dresses were already in the queue—without plaguing the meal with questions about the tiny green specks in the meat sauce, and when dessert would be ready because I took three more bites, see? But you’d never know they’d eaten by the way they wouldn’t keep their fingers out of the cheese tray—an impulse exacerbated by the fact that Liza was, so far, twenty minutes late. Was it possible she wouldn’t show? Molly had sent the most neutral possible Daniel filled me in—wow, lots to catch up on text confirming the time and gotten an affirmative, though short, Yes, see you then. She pulled it up now to read it again, as if Liza’s feelings toward her might appear between the lines, as she swatted intermittently at her children’s fingers, each time rearranging the cubes so the missing pieces were not so obvious, realigning the crackers so they’d look ready for company.

  That Liza now fell under this Best Behavior category of visitors felt foreign, wrong. How had Molly allowed this gaffe of hers to wield so much power over where they stood? This was Liza, who had rolled out her unicorn sleeping bag next to Molly’s at slumber parties for years, the life of the party who would secretly lie awake, unable to sleep alone someplace unfamiliar, until Molly silently offered up her headphones and Discman in the dark. Liza, who’d cried with unabashed gusto during her toast at Molly’s wedding. Liza, who’d gotten so black-out drunk the first time Molly visited her in Chicago that Molly was positive she didn’t remember shouting at passersby on the walk home from the after-hours bars that the whole move had been a mistake, all the while scarfing down a too-many-toppings-to-hold hot dog. Molly had been struck by the fact that no one yelled back, Go home, then! Even in that state and at that hour, Liza fell on the honest side of outspokenness, soliciting only looks of sympathy, and Molly had figured that Chicago would come to suit Liza just fine and that the sooner Molly got used to the distance between them, the better off she’d be.

  Still, Molly had always liked her friend best in those vulnerable moments, those rare reversals. She knew this didn’t make her a very nice person; she’d never say it aloud. It was just that … well, usually it was she who counted on Liza to hold her together. To whisper corny jokes in the dark when the slumber party included a slasher film. To force-feed her orange slices when nerves rendered her light-headed before her walk down the aisle. To brightly greet her hangover mere hours after that shouting walk home with coffee and croissants. Prepping for this dinner tonight, for what should have been a thank-you but was instead a silent apology, her shame had come to a head. And Daniel—was he really so oblivious, about everything? Could he honestly not tell something was off?

  Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe tonight could salvage things between her and Liza.

  Or maybe it would simply finish the job of ruining everything between them.

  The doorbell sounded, and the kids took off running to answer while Molly stood rooted, rearranging the cheese once more with shaky fingers. No turning back now. She heard Daniel’s heavy jog down the stairs, his pleasant exclamation in greeting, Liza’s “Hey, little man!” hello to Grant, the slapping of high fives, and the music box notes of Nori’s infectious giggle. Then, Liza again: “You said I could bring a guest.…”

  “Absolutely. Daniel Perkins.” He’d be offering his hand now, and Molly was glad of the empty room to roll her eyes into. A date, after only a couple weeks in town? Classic Liza, to set her sights on something like a hiatus and then change her mind—not that she didn’t have a right to. You could do that, when you were untethered. When backing out of a bad call didn’t drag someone you cared about with you.

  “Max Miller.”

  “Max is a good friend from Chicago. He ended up being in town, so I thought I’d bring him along rather than canceling.”

  Molly brightened, retracting her judgment. This wasn’t nonchalance from Liza—it was brilliance. Max was the sort to diffuse the tension, keep things light. Maybe they could actually have fun tonight, and she and Liza could have things out some other time. With no one listening.

  “Are you and Max best friends?” Grant demanded. “I thought you were Mom’s best friend.”

  “Well.” Liza laughed uncomfortably. “I think you can have more than one.”

  They filed into the kitchen doorway, and Molly faltered. Though that awful morning hovered between them like fog, a part of her brain registered Liza’s presence with something akin to relief: Oh, this isn’t some dreaded adversary—it’s just Liza. Molly smiled, holding out her arms to greet her guests with a proper hug.

  “Good to see you, Max!” she said brightly. “And Liza, holy moly…” Had she really said holy moly? She’d had a teensy glass of wine while preparing dinner and then another when watching the clock—but usually these turns of phrase didn’t surface until at least three drinks in. “I’m so glad you’re okay.…” Liza’s eyes held some unreadable challenge. Was she daring Molly to clear the air now, in front of everyone, or was she daring her not to? Molly looked back to Max, desperate for some sign of warmth, but his eyes were on Liza, in a ready to defend your honor sort of way. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a great tension diffuser after all.

  “Likewise,” Liza said tightly, the challenge still burning behind narrowed lids.

  Grant tugged at Molly’s sleeve. “Do you and Aunt Liza get in trouble together?” Molly looked down at him and then back at Liza, eyebrows raised. After an awkward beat, Liza gave in to a little laugh, which Molly echoed, gratefully.

  “Who, us?” Liza asked, all mock innocence.

  “My teacher says she can tell who’s really best friends by who’s in trouble together.”

  Liza laughed again, while Molly bit back the urge to ask what exactly had prompted that observation. She hoped it didn’t involve Grant, whose best friend, as far as Molly knew, was a studious Pokémon card collector named Stevie who saved him a seat on the bus every day. She should have hosted more playdates, vetted him more thoroughly.…

  “I’m not sure I want to get into a trouble competition with your mom,” Max said good-naturedly. It would have been funny under different circumstances.

  “I’m not a very good listener,” Nori announced, as if on cue.

  Liza’s eyes were back on Molly’s, requesting permission to laugh. She knew enough to ask, at least. Molly smiled ruefully. “You think you have her pinned down here … but she bobs up right away over there somewhere!” she quipped. It was one of their favorites from her dog-eared quote book—FDR’s warning that no one should dare enter an argument with Eleanor—and a handy over-the-kids’-heads stand-in for actual laughter. She turned to Nori. “That’s something you’re supposed to be working on, not boasting about,” she told her, and with a shrug Nori was off and skidding in her socks down the hallway.

  “I listen when I’m with Rosie!” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t say she isn’t my real best friend, Grant. She is too!”

  “How can she be your best friend if she doesn’t even talk?” Grant shot back, trailing after her.

  Max turned to Daniel. “Is Rosie a dog? Because a dog is an acceptable best friend.”

  Molly didn’t want her husband to answer, didn’t want to know if his old smugness about the “troubled girl” his daughter spent time with remained. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, feeling awkward around Liza and Max, if only she didn’t feel that way around her own husband, too. “No, no, just a quiet child,” she said quickly. “What can I get everyone to drink?”

  By the time the natural topics for forced small talk petered out, they were seated around the table with wine and salads. As they stared into their romaine with exaggerated appreciation, it was Max who had either the courage or the audacity to pull everything into the open.

  “I have to ask,” he said, sounding apologetic. “I don’t mean to bring up a topic you’d rather avoid, but that incident on the webcam gave Liza quite a scare. Is there any
news? Who might have done that, or why?”

  Daniel cleared his throat loudly from the head of the table, and Molly stole a glance at Liza, who’d never liked being spoken for, even when the speaking was a fair approximation of what she would have said herself. Molly half-expected her to put Max in his place with a sharp comment or a warning look, but she didn’t. There was a solidarity between the two of them, as if they’d come into this together, with a plan, and resolved to go out the same way, and Molly wondered not for the first time if they were really just friends. She’d understood Liza’s reservations early on, that Max hiding his own questions about his sexuality could be a sign of struggling to come to terms with it, but as time solidified the connection between the two Molly had caught herself questioning how much that even mattered. All relationships involved saying yes to one person and saying no to everyone else. What difference did it make precisely who you were directing every no to if you were focused on your yes?

  “No news,” Daniel answered, tacking on the kind of passive gesture that tries to say, Guess it was just one of those crazy things. Unlike Liza, Molly had never minded being spoken for as long as the words weren’t inaccurate. In fact, she could appreciate being saved the trouble. She nodded, hoping to put forth the impression of a unified front akin to Max and Liza’s. But the current that had once flown invisibly between her and Daniel had weakened until it was nothing more than a fading SOS signal. “Best guess is that it was a random burglar and Liza scared him off, thank goodness.”

  Molly tried to smile at her friend, who was watching her carefully. Now would be the time to show belated gratitude for Liza’s all-night drive and to apologize for the way she’d treated her that morning. To blame it on shock or perhaps—though it was reaching—on the inexplicable shame that can follow such violations of personal security. But she could see in Liza’s expression that it was too late for that, that there was no point in laying her sins bare in front of Daniel now, because it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.