What is happening? Where is her family?
She skids into the kitchen, crying out as her hip bangs against the hard, unforgiving edge of a countertop.
The kitchen is just as she left it last night—the sink is empty, the countertops are smooth and gleaming, and the empty pizza box is folded in the recycling bin.
But Bennett’s backpack is missing from the hook by the garage door.
Marissa sucks in a deep breath, fighting a rising swell of fear, then she pivots and stares at the coffee maker next to the refrigerator.
It’s full of rich-smelling, freshly brewed coffee.
Beside it is a note, written on a Post-it: You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. B and I are getting bagels on the way to school.
Marissa closes her eyes as relief courses through her, wondering how she blotted out so much: Matthew’s arrival home last night, and the sound of his alarm going off at six thirty this morning—as it did every weekday. He would’ve taken a shower and changed and roused Bennett, while she slept on.
But Marissa never sleeps late—all too often, she wakes around 4:00 or 5:00 A.M., her mind churning. During the increasingly rare occasions when she does manage to catch a full night’s rest, she always jolts awake at the sound of Matthew’s alarm.
She looks at Matthew’s note again. This isn’t a complaint about her husband, but she can count the number of times Matthew has taken Bennett to school on both hands, and that includes his spontaneous drive-in last week. And he’s been so busy at work, which makes the gesture seem all the more loving.
Is it possible that her husband has truly forgiven her?
He wouldn’t if he knew the full story, Marissa thinks as a wave of dizziness passes through her.
Marissa takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with cold water, drinking it straight down. She is parched and has the faint beginnings of another headache.
She needs to get a grip.
With the first bracing sip of strong black coffee, she feels the stirrings of clarity in her mind. She begins to form a plan: no wine for the rest of the week, and certainly no Xanax. She’ll eat well and get in some cardio so that her body will be naturally relaxed at bedtime.
She needs to talk more to Bennett, too, so maybe she’ll pick him up right after school—now that he is quitting baseball, there is no need for him to stay for practice. She’ll take him out for his favorite frozen yogurt at the place where you can choose from dozens of sugary toppings. Polly will cover the store—
Polly. Marissa wants to scream. She is supposed to meet Polly in—Marissa glances at the clock on the microwave—exactly four minutes.
Marissa runs back upstairs and grabs her phone, typing a quick text to Polly: So sorry! Had an emergency this morning and I need to reschedule coffee.
She hesitates, then adds, Can you open the shop? I’ll be there ASAP and we’ll sort everything out.
She holds her breath until the reply comes in a moment later: Sure! I’ll be happy to!
Out of all the unpredictabilities in her life, at least Polly’s eagerness has remained a constant.
* * *
When Marissa arrives at Coco a little later, Polly is assisting a woman looking for a hostess gift.
“The great thing about Le Labo candles is that even though they’re a little pricey, they really last,” Polly says. “I personally love the Palo Santo Fourteen. It’s slightly spicy, but not cloying. Plus there’s a hint of sage to banish away negativity.”
Marissa watches as the woman leans down and sniffs it.
“Mmm,” she murmurs. “You know what? I’m going to get Julia one and I’ll also take one for myself.”
Marissa has to admit that Polly is a good sales associate; her memory for detail is impressive.
One would think Polly had a lot of experience in retail, but when Marissa hired her, Polly’s résumé listed only one sales job, at an Anthropologie in Bethesda. Her other position had been as a nanny for a family with three girls in Potomac.
So why did Polly’s roommate think Marissa was Polly’s boss at a real estate company? Her roommate could have muddied the details—there was the loud Grateful Dead music and the aroma of pot wafting from the house—but still, the inconsistency nags at Marissa.
After Polly finishes ringing up her customer, Marissa approaches and puts a hand on Polly’s back, feeling the sharp edge of her shoulder blade.
“I’m sorry,” Marissa begins.
“No.” Polly spins around to face Marissa. Her fair complexion is mottled with red splotches, and she can barely meet Marissa’s eyes. “I’m the one who should be apologizing! I lied to you. I don’t really have a mouse problem.”
Marissa feigns surprise. “Oh?”
Polly traces an invisible line across the wood floor with the tip of her shoe. “The truth is, it’s boy trouble. My roommate, Keith…”
Was Keith the one who shouted, Is it the pizza guy? Marissa wonders.
“Long story short, I like him. But he’s not into me. He has this new girlfriend and I—I just needed a few nights away.”
Marissa nods. When she was Polly’s age, she was on the cusp of being engaged to Matthew, but she recalls the angst her friends felt over guys back then.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” Marissa asks quietly.
“I guess I was embarrassed.” Polly swallows hard. “I mean, you’ve probably never been rejected by anyone. Look at you! You’ve got this gorgeous husband and a secret admirer.”
Not so secret, Marissa thinks, her stomach clenching. How is it that Polly can have Marissa softening in sympathy, then tensing in annoyance a moment later? She and Polly simply don’t gel; they never have.
Marissa clears her throat, then adds, as if it were an afterthought, “Polly? Your roommate said something strange.… She mentioned she thought you worked at a real estate company?”
Polly shakes her head. “Yeah, she gets a little confused sometimes, especially when she parties.… She’s thinking of a place I temped at for a couple weeks.”
Marissa supposes Polly’s explanation makes sense.
“So we’re good?”
Marissa nods. “We are.”
One task on her to-do list is complete, so Marissa heads to the back room to research stationery distributors. Several customers have recently asked if Coco has cards to go along with the gifts they have purchased. Marissa scrolls through various websites, bookmarking a few possibilities. She sends emails to the suppliers, inquiring about pricing and availability, then considers Avery’s instruction to think of a genuine compliment for Matthew. It shouldn’t be hard to do, but Marissa wants her words to come from the heart. The catch is, with Matthew working late all week, when will she find the right moment to deliver them?
She texts Avery about her dilemma and is reading Avery’s reply when Polly pokes in her head. “Hey, I just had a thought! I wonder if you checked the security camera footage if you could see who left that note.”
Drop it! Marissa wants to yell. “I already looked yesterday. It was too dark to see anyone clearly.”
Now they’re even, Marissa thinks. She and Polly have each lied to the other.
“Okay, although I wonder…?”
Before Polly can say another word, Marissa interjects, “Hey, you know what would be really helpful? Could you run out and get us some more packing tape? Maybe grab us a couple coffees, too—my treat.”