by Katie Sise
Priya’s legs felt numb against the wicker sofa’s flowered cushion. She sat there frozen, unsure of what to say. Finally she asked, “Why were you there today at the open house?”
“Because Josie invited me there,” Brad said, blowing out an angry breath. “She told me she needed to talk to me, that it was urgent she tell me something.” He studied her, still standing there, his gaze unrelenting as always, missing nothing. “Don’t you know me better than to think I could ever try to kill someone?”
Did she know him better than that? She thought she did, but everything felt too confusing and blurred after this morning. “I was scared!” Priya blurted. “Okay? Can’t you understand that after what happened today?”
Brad shook his head and sat down beside her. “You were scared,” he said slowly. “Of course. You’re always scared.” He sounded so tired, and Priya felt embarrassed by the truth of what he’d said. “I don’t know if I can go on like this, Priya, with your fear coloring everything we do, everything we are.”
Priya started crying. How had all of this gotten so turned around? “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s not like you’ve been a saint, Brad.”
“I know that, and I’m sorry, too,” he said, and then he took her hand. “And just so you know, Emma wasn’t going to out me to anyone,” he said. “Obviously I should have told you this a long time ago, but she was breaking things off with me. Really, Priya. That night when she came to our town house? She was trying to call things off. She was pregnant, but it wasn’t mine.”
Priya’s stomach lurched. “Oh, God,” she said, her eyes burning with tears. “That just makes the whole thing sadder, which I didn’t even think was possible. And how can you know for sure it wasn’t yours?”
“Because we used protection. And because she was sort of play-acting like it was mine at first, but when I called her bluff, she admitted it was someone else’s. I have no idea whose it was, which is why I didn’t go to the police after she disappeared. I swear to God I would have gone to the cops if she’d told me. But I didn’t even ask her whose it was; I was just so relieved it wasn’t mine.”
Priya pulled her knees to her chest. “You still should have told the cops she was pregnant.”
“And you probably should have told them she was sleeping with me, but you didn’t.”
Priya flinched. It was true, of course.
“We all do things we’re ashamed of,” Brad said, his voice hard. “We all stay quiet when we shouldn’t. But, Priya, listen to me. What would it have mattered if you or I came forward? I didn’t do it. And that night when I watched her walk away, it was over. I didn’t want her anymore, I wanted you. You might not believe me, but it’s true.”
The funny thing was, Priya did believe him. He’d returned to her that night with devotion all over his face and in every ounce of his body. “Maybe you were done with Emma, but you’ve been unfaithful since,” she said. “I know that.”
“Only once,” he said, “and it was a huge mistake. And I put an end to it.”
“It’s still too many times, Brad. Something about us isn’t right if you can’t stay faithful. And it’s not fair what I do to you, either, my anxiety, holding on to you because I’m too scared of falling apart without you.”
Brad shook his head. “I don’t keep you together,” he said. “You do that.”
Priya smiled weakly. “So do the meds you prescribe me.”
“You could find a psychiatrist for that,” he said. “Or get another therapist, better than the ones you’ve had.”
“Someone else should be prescribing, not you, shouldn’t they?” Priya asked carefully. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground—his career, his ego.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” Brad said, shaking his head. “I’m just trying to help you.”
“I know that,” Priya said, “I do. But I think maybe, the dose, isn’t it a little aggressive?” His eyes went wider. “I googled it,” she said, “that’s all, and it seemed—”
“There’s an acceptable range of dosage, Priya,” Brad said.
“Oh, okay,” Priya said, unsure how to respond.
Brad’s face was sad and unfamiliar when he said, “It just seems in this conversation you’ve accused me of murdering someone, stabbing someone else, and poisoning you with medication.”
“No, of course not,” Priya said. “I know you would never hurt me. I just thought perhaps . . .”
“That I was overmedicating you,” he finished.
“Yes,” she said.
He pressed his lips tightly together. “It’s a higher dosage than normal,” he said, “but not out of the range of what’s sometimes prescribed. And I told you I was starting you on the highest dose; we talked about that. Priya, it’s not been easy, seeing you have these spells of anxiety, knowing you’re caring for our son alone, and knowing you could have another panic attack at any minute, while you were driving him somewhere, even, and what if . . .”
“I’ve always taken good care of Elliot,” Priya said. “I’ve always kept him safe and loved.”
“I know that. God, do I know that. You’re the most incredible mother I’ve ever known.”
Priya blinked. He’d never said it like that. They were quiet, staring at each other, until Priya said slowly, “I’m going to get a new therapist, and a new doctor.”
“There’s a psychiatrist I know from work . . .” Brad started, but Priya held up her hand. “I’ll find my own,” she said.
Brad nodded, and then a knock pounded on the front door. Priya assumed it was Elliot and rose quickly, the blue-and-white tiles blurring beneath her feet as she hurried down the hall and into the foyer. Brad followed her, and they opened the door to see Detective Rappaport and two uniformed officers standing behind him. He flashed his badge, which felt entirely unnecessary, and then said, “Dr. Aarons, you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Josie Carmichael.”
Priya covered her mouth. She glanced at her husband, standing there in the doorway with his face white. “Let’s make this easy,” Rappaport said as he began to frisk Brad for weapons. “We wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of your neighborhood, Dr. Aarons.”
“We didn’t do anything!” Priya blurted.
“Forensics found evidence that gives us probable cause,” the detective said, the words piercing the cold air like a slingshot.
“I’m going with the police,” Brad said slowly, reasonably, and then he nodded toward their neighbor’s house, and that’s when Priya saw something so much worse than Rappaport and his all-powerful badge: her son was trudging through the neighbor’s front yard toward hers.
“No,” she said beneath her breath. Please, turn back, Elliot, go back inside.
Elliot was wearing Brad’s oversized snow boots. Priya had shooed him out of the house so fast he couldn’t find his own. He looked ridiculous in them, and he could barely walk through the snow without stumbling. What had she been thinking?
“Call our lawyer,” Brad was saying, but his words were too fuzzy inside her brain. Elliot was still so focused on the snow he hadn’t looked up yet to see the officers on their front step. The lights on the cop car weren’t flashing, and nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have caught his eye yet.
“Priya? Do you hear me? Call our lawyer and send him to the station.”
Their lawyer? Was Brad trying to sound tough in front of the detective? The only lawyer she ever considered theirs was Brad’s brother. “Jack?” she asked, and he nodded. She swallowed, and the moment she turned back to Elliot, his eyes found hers. He stopped dead in his tracks. Snow crept halfway up his boots. She wanted to call to him, but she couldn’t find her voice. Elliot’s gaze went to his father on the front step with Rappaport and the other cops. His brown eyes went wide. He started to sprint through the snow toward them, but then he lost his footing.
“Elliot!” Priya called out as he fell facedown into the snow, and then she took off running toward him. Two neighbors across the way h
ad opened their front doors. Neither came to help Priya. They just stood there, one with a phone pressed against her ear as she stared at the police car. The news of Brad’s arrest would be all over Waverly within the hour, and Priya knew they deserved it.
Elliot pushed himself to his feet and started barreling toward her, and she toward him, both of them stumbling through the snow until they were in each other’s arms.
“Mama?” he asked, a question in his voice she didn’t know how to answer.
Priya held her son and watched as his father was handcuffed and escorted into the back of a police car.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Emma
Ten years ago
I text my sister where the party is so she can meet me, but then I lose my cell service deeper in the woods. The trees and foliage are thickening, and I’m cursing myself for hanging back and telling Noah and Josie to go ahead without me. I nearly stumble over a rock, catching my balance at the last second. I try to calm down, try to tell myself I’m overreacting, and that the woods are safe. I know this trail, and that it leads to a clearing as long as I keep following it. That’s where Josie and Noah will have the tents set up, and I remind myself that as soon as I see those tony red-and-white coolers full of beer, I’ll be in college again and everything will feel closer to normal.
I use the flashlight on my phone to illuminate the path, but my hands are shaking enough from fear and cold that the light scatters the dirt like a strobe. I sing a Bob Marley song my dad used to sing to Haley and me just to hear the sound of my own voice instead of the crushing brush and animal calls. I’m almost there.
Moments later I see a golden glow, and something like euphoria hits when I realize I’ve made it. I start to run, and the low beat from some song I don’t recognize filtering through the trees gets louder as I push faster toward it. When I crash into the clearing I can’t get over how many people are there. They must have taken the trails closer to campus to get to the party. There’s a group of guys and a few girls I don’t recognize, and then Noah’s lacrosse teammates clustered together drinking beers. A girl who manages their team, who Josie doesn’t like, hangs on the fringes of the lacrosse group like she isn’t sure how close she should get. I can see her guitar resting against a large rock. She’s got a pretty good singing voice, but that’s not why Josie doesn’t like her—it’s not anything simple like jealousy. Josie doesn’t like her because there’s an air of desperation about her, and that’s the one thing Josie won’t stand for.
Chris is off to the side by himself nursing a beer, his eyes glinting with something I can’t read, until I follow his gaze to Josie and Noah. The music pulses, and I feel sick when I see them together. Noah’s sitting in a folding chair with Josie on his lap, laughing. Josie lifts her beautiful face and sees me over Noah’s shoulder, and when she smiles it doesn’t look right. I make my legs walk toward them, forcing myself to look less upset than I actually am.
“Hey,” I say coolly, and Noah turns, guilt all over his face for whatever this is.
I try only looking at him instead of at Josie, attempting to somehow telegraph that I got freaked out in the woods and that I’m the one who needs him right now, not her. But Noah and I don’t know each other well enough yet to communicate in glances. If anything, I’m sure it’s Josie who can read my face, and it makes me so furious that my eyes well with tears. I don’t want her to be the one holding all my truths in her hand like a fistful of candy.
“What’s up?” Josie asks easily, almost kindly, but I don’t answer her. I turn to Noah.
“Can we talk?” I ask him. To Josie, I want to say: Can you please get off my soon-to-be boyfriend’s lap? but I restrain myself. I stand there and watch as Noah gets up quickly and practically dumps Josie off his lap into the dirt.
Noah’s friends crank up the music, and one of the guys I barely know does a keg stand while the others cheer him on. As quickly as I’ve come, I want to get out of here. The woods suddenly seem too close, Noah’s friends too childish and leering, and my supposed best friend too cruel and suffocating. I want to scream, but I can’t: not here, not now.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks as he gets closer. His voice is full of something that feels genuine and worth trying for. I love Josie, and I never wanted a relationship with Noah to come between us, but maybe I was too naive to even think that could be possible. Maybe she’s writing an email to Noah like the one she wrote today, not out of overprotectiveness for me, but because she likes him. Maybe she’s been lying about being upset that he’s stealing me away from her; maybe what she really means is that I’m the one doing the stealing. Maybe she didn’t realize she wanted him like that until I wanted him, too.
“I need to talk to you alone,” I say softly to Noah, and then I narrow my gaze on Josie, daring her to stand in my way. He wants me, not you.
Noah puts his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” he says. “Want to walk toward the river?”
An image floods my mind: the choppy current of the river, unforgiving and unrelenting, the water black as night. It makes me shudder, but I want to be alone with him, and I want to be far away from this party.
“Emma,” Josie protests, but I won’t hear it.
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Priya
Priya held Elliot tightly against her and tried to stop shaking. Elliot was still skinny enough to fold up his limbs inside her embrace, and she held him curled in her arms like a baby as they sat together on a leather sofa in the TV room. She’d wrapped a raspberry-colored afghan around him, and now she rubbed circles over his bony back as he cried against her collarbone and begged her to explain what had just happened.
“A woman was hurt today at an open house we went to,” she told him, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “And because we were there, the police need to question us and make sure we didn’t do it.”
“But Dad would never hurt anyone,” Elliot said, the words choked by his sobs.
“I know that,” Priya said. I know that now, at least. She felt it in her bones that Brad had told her the truth today. For years she’d told herself she was absolutely sure he hadn’t hurt Emma, but there was always the tiniest kernel of doubt. How had she allowed so many transgressions in her marriage, so many things she never thought she would tolerate? How foolish could she ever be to think a marriage built on lies could survive? For God’s sake, Elliot was born two days after Emma disappeared. What kind of karma had she and Brad incurred, for standing by and never going to the police with what they knew?
“I’m scared,” Elliot said, pulling back to look her in the eye. His T-shirt was stretched around the collar and damp from where snow had found its way beneath his scarf. His pale skin was so delicate, and Priya gently touched the spot where his pulse reminded her how alive they were, how vibrant.
“I know, Elliot. Me, too.” Honesty was what she always tried to give him, but she couldn’t remember another time when it had been this hard. “Dad didn’t hurt that woman, so there’s nothing we can do but wait until the police realize that, too, and let him go.”
“But how will they realize that?” Elliot asked, too smart for his own good.
It’s what Priya wanted to know, too. The only person who could exonerate her husband was Josie, which made her the very person Priya needed to get to.
“Sit tight for just a second, okay?” Priya asked Elliot. “How about I make you a mug of warm milk?”
Elliot looked unsure but nodded, so Priya carefully extracted him from her lap and set him down on the soft leather cushion, tucking the afghan around him. She crept into the kitchen and found her phone. She opened up her texts and typed a message to Josie.
Will you see me if I come to the hospital? Brad was just arrested, Josie, but he wasn’t the one who hurt you today. Which means the person who did is still out there.
THIRTY-NINE
Emma
Ten years ago
Noah and I sit toget
her on the cold, hard dirt high above the river. Below us the water carves a winding course, and the melting snow has made the current faster than usual. I watch the white, frothy waves cut through the night, thinking about the slippery creatures beneath and what it would feel like to only ever hear the sound of rushing water.
“What are you thinking about?” Noah asks, his voice soft. He’s been so quiet sitting next to me and breathing in the same night air. Our phones illuminate the night enough so that I can see his face, his gaze taking in the river. It’s a straight drop down to the dirt from where we’re sitting, maybe four stories or so. There are paths the runners take down to the water, but those are a ways away, in places where the decline is much more moderate. The cliff we’re perched upon feels like a metaphor for the precipice Noah and I are hovering on, for what I’m about to tell him and how everything that comes after will be different. But maybe I’m just being dramatic. Maybe it’s just rocks and dirt and nothing more.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, turning the question around on him.
“I’m thinking about everything,” Noah says, “and how messed up it’s all gotten.” His words are slurring a bit, and I stay quiet because I know the beer will make him give me a more honest answer. “The tension between you, me, and Josie isn’t good,” he finally says, and the words shoot through me like a warning. Noah’s not good at picking up on moods and imperceptible shifts, and it makes me wonder if they’ve hooked up, if that’s what he really means.
I swallow hard. Noah links his fingers through mine, and his touch brings tears to my eyes. I have the awful sense that something may need to break for a new thing to survive. I don’t dare say it out loud because it feels too morbid, and I’m so full of life in this moment that I really don’t want to put words to the sense of doom I get every time I think of Noah, Josie, and me: the impossible threesome.
We watch the river for a beat longer, and I think about what I really want to say. More than whether he hooked up with Josie, more than even the baby, is the question of him and me, and that’s what I need to know first, before telling him everything else. The night air swirls around us, the smaller saplings swaying with the weight of it. I gather my courage, and then I ask it: