“Lay it shiny side up, buddy,” Chris instructs Bennett.
If it weren’t for the way Chris treated Matthew, Marissa might actually like her father-in-law. As it is, her feelings toward him are mixed.
“Okay, Gramps,” Bennett replies. “So the shiny side should face the shiny sun.”
“That’s right. Now find the big pole that’s going to hold up the tent.… No, not that one. It’s the one to the left.…”
Bennett lifts up both of his hands to see which index finger and thumb form the letter L, a trick he learned from a teacher.
Out of the corner of her eye, Marissa spots a familiar figure approaching the park. She stiffens. “I need to get something from my car,” Marissa tells Chris. “Would you mind watching Bennett for a bit?”
Chris waves her off, and Marissa hurries to intercept the new arrival.
Chris’s presence today serves a dual purpose: bonding with Bennett and affording her the chance to slip off, unnoticed.
The voices of the group fade as Marissa walks farther away, toward the wooded area by the playground equipment.
A few parents are pushing kids on swings or soaking in the sun on benches, but no one takes any notice of Marissa as she passes by, to where Avery waits.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Marissa begins. Seeing Avery here brings the tumult of last night rushing back, and Marissa’s stomach twitches.
“We’ve got a lot to cover, so talk fast.” Avery folds her arms. “What happened after I left?”
Marissa fills Avery in on everything: her soak in the tub and the memories of that summer, the games, and the soup delivery. From her position in the park, Marissa can’t see Bennett or Chris. She is gripped with the same irrational fear she felt right after her massage, the one that compelled her to rush to Bennett’s side.
He’s fine, she tells herself. He’s with Chris. And Chris knows how to handle himself. At seventy, he has the strength of many men half his age. Chris doesn’t go to a gym or play golf or tennis, but whenever there’s manual labor to be done—fifty-pound bags of mulch to spread around his yard, or a dead tree that needs to be cut down—he works unceasingly until the job is complete.
Because Avery doesn’t react when Marissa tells her about the soup delivery, Marissa keeps talking nervously. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to you about Skip, but I never thought he’d become … such a big problem.” Marissa realizes she is wringing her hands together, and she forces herself to stop.
“What is it? No more secrets.”
Marissa clears her throat. “The note that was slipped under Coco’s door … I reviewed the security camera footage and recognized the person who delivered it.”
Marissa can’t see Avery’s eyes beneath Avery’s dark sunglasses. It’s impossible to know how she is feeling.
Avery fired her as a client once before; now that she knows Marissa has been keeping more information concealed, will she walk away again?
Marissa is in too deep; she has to keep going. No more secrets. “It was a man named Ray. He’s homeless, and he often sits on a bench down the street from my store. I talked to him and he told me someone had paid him to do it.”
“Who?”
“Ray didn’t get a name.”
“And?” Avery snaps.
“And in addition to paying Ray, he gave Ray his gloves. I recognized them because they’re the same gloves I bought Skip for Christmas.”
“How do you know they’re the same pair?”
“They’re blue leather. They’re very distinctive.”
Avery is silent for a moment. “Did you ever doubt it was Skip who left that note?”
Marissa shakes her head. “No. The moment I saw it, I knew.”
Marissa wishes Avery would remove her glasses so she could gauge her expression.
“I’m going to ask you something really personal now,” Avery finally says.
Marissa nods. She resists the urge to look back and crane her head to try to glimpse Bennett through the trees.
“Are you pregnant?”
“What?” Marissa gasps. “No! Why would you think such a thing?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.” Marissa is not going to explain the details of her cycle to Avery, but she can say with 100 percent certainty this is true. Marissa’s cell phone vibrates in her pocket, but she ignores it.
“Well, I have a feeling someone suspects you are.”
Who? Marissa begins to ask, but the word dies on her lips. The image of the opaque CVS bag, the one that contained her pregnancy test, bursts into her mind. “Polly! Did she tell you I was?”
“Why would Polly think that?”
“After Skip and I—well, I knew the odds were very slim, given my fertility issues. But I had to make sure. So I picked up a test and used it at work. The result was negative. But then Polly started acting strangely. She wouldn’t even let me pick up a pillow. I finally got it out of her that she saw the kit in the trash can.”
By the time Marissa is finished recounting the story, Avery is shaking her head. “So you explained to your overly solicitous assistant that you aren’t pregnant?”
“Yes. And she appeared to believe me. Did she tell you otherwise?” Marissa’s heart is pounding; she is so angry that if Polly were here, she’d not only fire her on the spot, she’d have trouble restraining herself from slapping Polly across the face.
“Have Polly and Skip ever met?”
“Polly and Skip?” Marissa feels dizzy under the onslaught of questions. She doesn’t want to be here, trying to untangle the horrible mess she’s created. She should be with her son, watching him pitch a tent for the first time. If only she hadn’t answered her phone that night when Skip had called, saying he was in the neighborhood. If only she’d said she was tired, instead of telling him to stop by, that Matthew was out of town but she’d love to catch up. If only she hadn’t drank half the bottle of wine he’d brought …
Marissa forces herself to consider Avery’s question. Marissa needs to make sure the information she gives is true. “No. Polly hasn’t worked for me long. Skip has never been to the store during that time. At least that I know about.”
The sun dips behind a cloud. The young-looking father sitting on the bench stands up and collects his children, leaving only a woman pushing a baby in a stroller back and forth. The baby is crying, a tired, drawn-out sound that borders on a whine. His noises are drowning out the faint voices of the Cub Scouts, and Marissa quashes the urgent desire to run back to Bennett.
Avery shifts topics. “Polly said someone has been calling the store and hanging up when she answers. It’s pretty obvious who the mystery caller is. Is it possible that he didn’t hang up once? That he and Polly spoke?”
Marissa shrugs. “I have no idea. Truly.”
She feels her cell phone vibrate in her pocket again. “Sorry.” She pulls it out and stares down at the notification: another missed call. There’s no name for the contact—Marissa erased it weeks ago—but she recognizes the number as Skip’s. Marissa’s chest tightens. “It’s him again.”
“Don’t answer. Until I figure out how to handle Skip, I don’t want you to talk to him.”