Open House: A Novel

by Katie Sise

  “Do you think I could ever do something like that to you?”

  “I think you’re lying to me about something,” Haley said, and as the words escaped her, she knew they were true. “And I want to know exactly what it is.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Emma

  Ten years ago

  I should’ve just demanded more time alone with Noah, but I knew Josie would never go for it, and now as she and I follow him along the trail back to the campsite, my face burns with everything I just told him and how imperfectly it all went, and with shame, too, that I thought it would go another way. I hate them both right now, especially Josie for interrupting us. I want to kick the back of her hiking boots as she plods along; I want to yank the silky yellow strands of her ponytail; I want to hurt her somehow, like she’s hurt me.

  Of course, I don’t. Because there’s a difference between rage and acting on it, and I know the line. I wonder if Josie does, and what about Noah? Men are so unknowable to me, sometimes, with their quicker flares to anger. I think about my dad, whom I’ve barely ever seen yell except for when I accused him of having an affair. I hope so hard that I was wrong about what I saw. I need to talk to Haley about it, maybe tonight when she gets here. And I need to tell her how I’ve been sleeping with Noah, and about being pregnant, of course. Maybe I’ll tell her everything tonight, and then we can tell my parents together tomorrow.

  The trees tighten so we have to walk single file along the trail. I can barely see Noah anymore, and I hope he and Josie know where they’re going.

  What if I’ve trusted the wrong people all this time? How is anyone supposed to know who the good ones are? Maybe there’s not even such a thing as good; maybe there are only shades of gray and circumstances and people reacting to them in myriad ways. Maybe no one should be surprised by anything anyone does. Maybe we’re all just animals trying to survive.

  I try to shake off the feeling, but it’s too heavy, coiling around my neck and shoulders like a viper. Josie lets a branch snap back in my face, and I pray she doesn’t turn and see the hot, angry tears that spring to my eyes. I want this night to be over. Tomorrow I’ll go home and talk to my parents about the baby. They’ll help me—they’ll help us. I think about all the people in my situation who aren’t lucky enough to have family that will support them, and it weighs me down even more, until I can barely make my feet follow Noah and Josie, until I just want to lie down and fall asleep beneath the stars.

  The music jars me out of my mood.

  A cheesy, poppy beat filters through the trees, and I exhale. We’re almost there. I’m craving alcohol to numb me, but of course, I can’t have it.

  Noah pushes through the trees first, holding branches aside for us to pass into the clearing. I take in everything, the boys clustered around the keg, laughing, a few girls on the fringes, and then, of course: Dean.

  He’s tall and good looking in a classically handsome way, dark haired and well built. Brown eyes, I think, but I haven’t really ever gotten close enough to know. He’s standing by the keg, holding a plastic cup and talking to one of Noah’s teammates. Dean doesn’t strike me as the jock type, which means he probably really likes Josie if he agreed to come here tonight.

  I turn to watch Josie, who appears a little annoyed to see him.

  Meanwhile Noah slips quickly back into his element with his teammates, smiling and laughing, and something happens in that moment as I watch him rejoin the party; in some way, I let him go. Or at least, the invisible thread that’s tied me to him starts to fray. I’ll be able to get myself back. And maybe at some point, I’ll turn him over to Josie. Maybe in some way, if I’m right about how she’s feeling, she needs him more than I do.

  Josie.

  She’s changed her expression so that she’s smiling now at Dean, but it’s an act, of course. Still, she’d fool anyone other than me, certainly someone as unsuspecting as Dean.

  Josie, my best friend—the person I thought was almost like a sister. But when I think of Haley and the fullness my heart feels at just the idea of her, I know that isn’t true: Josie isn’t my family; she isn’t my blood.

  I feel so calm all of a sudden, so peaceful. Even the woods don’t feel as menacing as they once did.

  One more night, I think to myself. Just get through these hours and find a way to end the charade come tomorrow.

  Yes, I tell myself. Tomorrow will be a new day.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Haley

  I think you’re lying to me about something, and I want to know exactly what it is.”

  Had Haley really just said those words to her fiancé? Her heart pounded as she stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the doorbell rang. Dean’s head jerked toward the sound of the bell. Haley put her palms on the table to steady herself, feeling like she was floating outside her body as she rose from the table to answer the door.

  “Haley,” Dean called after her, but she didn’t look back. She raced across the living room, expecting to find her parents at the door. She braced herself before opening it. She tried to make her face look like she was okay, like today hadn’t been too much to handle. But when she swung open the front door, it was Detective Rappaport on her front step. A lone overhead light lit his face, casting shadows and making half of his features look sunken.

  “Good evening, Ms. McCullough,” he said. “I need to bring Dean to the station again for more questioning. Is he here?”

  Haley swallowed. “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “I think it’s best if we question him first,” Rappaport said, shifting his weight, “and then I debrief you.”

  Haley’s blood felt hot, whooshing beneath her skin and into her ears until she could barely hear her own voice say, “This is my life, Detective. My sister; my fiancé. That’s practically my whole world.”

  Rappaport looked past her. She turned to follow his gaze into the empty living room, hardly believing that Dean hadn’t followed her to the door.

  “Please,” Haley said once more, and when Rappaport nodded, it felt genuine, like he could at least partly understand her situation.

  “We found correspondence between your fiancé and Josie. They seemed to point to some kind of relationship; it seemed they were meeting in secret, without you or Noah knowing about it.”

  Haley thought she might be sick. She put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself.

  “Nothing explicit,” Rappaport said quickly, “please don’t misunderstand me. But it’s a hunch we have, given the emails between them.”

  Haley had always been the one to communicate with Josie. She didn’t even copy Dean on the emails about houses, about their floor plans, pool sites, new construction versus old-world charm . . .

  The lingo flooded her mind, the sheer pretense of it all so completely absurd. “Dean’s in the kitchen,” she said flatly, moving aside so Rappaport could take her fiancé away from this place, from this house that suddenly felt incredibly far from ever being a home. She heard Dean in the kitchen, protesting, but then Rappaport’s voice rose, and Dean acquiesced. Rappaport emerged from the kitchen with Dean looking completely broken. Haley watched her fiancé, willing him to say something to her as he crossed the living room toward the outside world. When he finally paused and looked at her, his eyes held nothing reassuring, only sadness, and Haley watched as the man she loved left the warmth of their house for the cold, snowy night.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Emma

  Ten years ago

  What’s most surprising about the party is how many people have shown up while I was at the cliff with Noah. There must be at least a hundred more kids here, and it’s not just Noah’s friends and teammates: there are bunches of people I recognize from campus but have never talked to before. That’s how Yarrow is—too small to be anonymous, too big to know everyone. Kind of perfect in that way, I guess. I breathe in the night air tinged with smoke from the campfire, wanting to get lost in the swarm of kids drinking and laughing, wa
nting to shake free from Noah and Josie tonight, and maybe talk to someone I’ve never talked to before. It reminds me of the feeling I had when I got to Yarrow, when things were so new, when my life could have gone in any direction. I think back to the day I met Josie and Noah scooping bin candy in the student center, and how different everything would be now if we’d never met. I wonder if anyone can truly start over.

  One of Noah’s friends knocks into me, and I pitch forward. “Emma!” he says, slurring the syllables. “Sorry!” He offers me a hit from his joint, but I decline with a smile, and then I use the distraction to break free from Noah and Josie, plunging myself into the fray of warm bodies. Elbows poke my ribs, hips push me sideways. I move faster through the crowd, feeling a smile break on my face as the mob swallows me.

  I’ve lost them.

  A group of girls I’m pretty sure are on the soccer team talk and laugh, one of them gesticulating with her hands, looking vibrant as she holds her teammates’ attention. There’s a guy named Marcus I see by the keg, and I make my way toward him because he’s always been nice, and plus he’s talking to a girl I don’t know, and I want a new friend, maybe—or at least a new face. But then I see Chris coming toward me, his eyes on me like he wants us to talk. I contemplate pretending I don’t see him, but I don’t want to blow him off and hurt his feelings. You can tell he’s sensitive about stuff like that, about not fitting in with the kids at Yarrow. Josie said he dated some girl in our class for a little while, but then she dumped him as soon as she realized he worked in an auto body shop and never went to college.

  “Hey,” he says, his bare hands clutching a beer.

  “Aren’t you freezing?” I ask, because his long fingers are white around the beer, and he’s only wearing a fleece.

  “I’m good,” he says. The corner of his mouth sags a bit like it always does when he’s drunk. “Have you seen Josie?” he asks me.

  I shrug. “I lost her,” I say, like it was an accident. He stares at me, and my throat feels tight all of a sudden, like I might cry.

  “You okay?” he asks. His eyes are so pale, just like Josie’s, and in the dark night they glow, appearing almost otherworldly.

  “I’m fine,” I say, but he wraps his cold hand around my wrist. He’s just like Josie—he picks up on the spaces between the words, on what I’m actually feeling, even if I don’t say it.

  “No, you’re not,” he says. I can’t tell if he really cares about me, or if he’s just hoping we’ll hook up again sometime soon.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I’m not really okay. I’m scared, actually, about how everything’s about to change.” I pull my arm away, and he starts asking me what I mean, but I just can’t explain myself right now. “I’m sorry, Chris, I gotta get some air,” I say, which is a crazy thing to say because we’re already outside, but it strikes me then that this is how I sometimes feel with Chris and Josie, like I just need some fresh air, like the walls are closing in. I pivot and start walking, turning back once to see the flicker of anger and bewilderment in his eyes, his mouth open, right side still sagging, like he wants to call me back to him. I turn away and cut through the next group of kids. They’re drunker, their warm beer-breath assaulting me, and I put my head down and barrel through them.

  “Emma,” I hear a low voice say.

  A gust of cold air hits my face. It’s Dean. He’s standing alone, or at least alone amid a bunch of people, seeming not to be talking to any of them.

  “Hi,” I say, praying Josie isn’t close enough to see him talking to me.

  “Hi,” he says back. I didn’t even know he knew my name. His long lashes are blinking, and as I stare into his eyes, a jolt of adrenaline hits me, and I want to be away from him. “I need to go,” I say, trying not to be too rude. “I need to get a beer,” I lie, to soften the fact that he’s the last person I want to be hanging out with right now.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asks.

  “Um,” I say, stalling, because even just a conversation with someone Josie is hooking up with seems like a bad idea.

  “Maybe somewhere private?”

  “Sorry, no,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to see if Josie’s seeing this. But I don’t see her and Noah anywhere. “I really can’t, I need to . . .”

  “Get a beer, right,” Dean says, “you said so.” There’s an edge to his voice, but it’s obvious he’s trying to tamp it down when he says, “It’ll only take a minute.” He starts to inch away from the party. In the moonlight I can see how perfect his smile is. He looks so much older than most seniors, like he should be out in the world, not partying in the woods with plastic cups. “Come on,” he says, and my feet start following him toward the trail. “Fine,” I say, “but only just a minute. Because I really need to get back to my friends.” Another lie—I can’t seem to stop. I open my mouth to protest leaving the party, to ask if we can just stay here, but then he reaches back and surprises me by taking my hand.

  “Only a minute,” he promises.

  FORTY-SIX

  Priya

  Priya lay in the dark with Elliot. He was on the cusp of sleep, his chest rising and falling a little more slowly. Brad’s mom was still downstairs, and Priya could hear the clanking sounds of her loading the dishwasher. She stroked Elliot’s hair and leaned in to gently kiss his temple.

  The only light in Elliot’s bedroom came from a plastic turtle that cast stars on the ceiling. Priya, Brad, and Elliot hadn’t taken a vacation in ages, but a few years ago they did, and Priya had forgotten to pack the turtle. Elliot couldn’t fall asleep without it, and Priya ended up sleeping in his bed the entire vacation, even though Brad had purposely booked a beach house with bedrooms on opposite sides of the kitchen so they could have some privacy. Elliot had needed her, and it felt so cozy and lovely to be snuggled up with him that Priya never tore herself away to go to her husband.

  There were things she could have done differently over the years. She could have kept painting when she knew that was what her brain needed. Or at least, when she felt she couldn’t pick up a brush, she could have done something. She’d shut that part of herself out, and then she shut Brad out, too. Did things like that make her complicit in all of this? Not in Brad’s lies, but in the demise of her marriage?

  No, no. Certainly, the woman at the gym from a few years ago had happened during a low point in their marriage. But Brad had cheated with Emma when Priya was vibrant, alive, and painting. She wasn’t perfect—who was?—but she was herself then, a woman with a big, gaping hunger for life, art, and Brad. And he’d still cheated. She had to remember that.

  Brad must have felt the shift in their relationship after Emma disappeared. Elliot had just arrived, and the stress of a newborn on any relationship was something to be reckoned with, let alone one that also bore the strain of infidelity and a missing girl. Could any couple recover from those things?

  Elliot let out a wheezy sigh and turned away from Priya. He ran hot at night, and even in the dead of winter slept in a T-shirt and shorts. Her eyes rested on the slope of his skinny shoulder, and she imagined what things would be like if she left Brad and it was just Elliot and her alone.

  When Priya and Brad first got together, more than sex even, they cuddled. Neither of them had ever said it out loud to each other, and Priya had never told anyone else, either, but it was true. They’d go see live music and sling their arms around each other the whole time; they’d go to an art show and never drop each other’s hand; and they’d come home from wherever they were and collapse into bed and sometimes have sex but mostly just hold each other. They woke up every morning with limbs entwined. It went on that way for a year or so, and then Priya got pregnant with Elliot, and Brad proposed. But by the second half of the pregnancy Priya couldn’t get comfortable sleeping with her burgeoning stomach. She tossed and turned, tried different pillows that were supposed to help, but as her stomach grew, she could barely stand to be touched while she slept, let alone held. She tolerated Brad’s embrace while she was
awake, or when they would lay in bed and watch movies on lazy weekends when he didn’t have to work at the hospital. But sometimes, especially in the final few months, her stretched-out skin would start to crawl and itch, and she’d fling his arms off her as though he were a stranger.

  And then, of course, Elliot came, and her embrace was for someone else entirely. Maybe some women tried to hide that fact when their babies were born, or at least tried to share. Priya didn’t. Maybe it was because Brad had cheated with Emma, but Priya couldn’t make herself be careful with his feelings after what he’d done to her. She soaked up her newborn, her arms and heart suddenly full again with love and purpose. And, of course, her anxiety skyrocketed, because how could she love Elliot the way she did and have him be in this world where he could get hurt? How did other women do this?

  When Elliot was an older toddler, Priya knew it was time to put more of herself back into her marriage, but she couldn’t seem to get it right. At music classes she heard the other mothers talk about date nights, but being intimate with Brad again felt like another world, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of. He tried, of course, and sometimes it worked; sometimes she followed him to the bedroom, and they slept together. But those times were few and far between. And then, when Elliot was no longer a toddler—and there was less of an excuse for the exhaustion Priya sometimes feigned—Brad cheated with the woman from the gym.

  Priya closed her eyes, trying to forget. She listened to the sounds of Elliot’s breathing and her mother-in-law cleaning up the kitchen, but her mind returned to Brad. If someone cheated in a marriage, did that mean there wasn’t anything worth trying to save? It wasn’t just the cheating—she knew they had other problems. But she thought there was something there still, and not just a shared love of Elliot, but something more—something good. She thought of Brad, held at the station for a crime she knew he didn’t commit.

  First things first. Priya slipped from Elliot’s bed, careful not to wake him. She moved to his desk and scooped up her car keys as quietly as possible.