The Neighbor

I thinned my lips, refused him.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” he said at last, a statement, not a question. “Found in her car in the garage. Suicide, I would guess. Or maybe she drank too much and passed out behind the wheel? What I don’t understand is why the authorities let it go. Especially given that it was a small town, and someone, somewhere, had to know how she treated you.”

I stared at him. I couldn’t help myself. I stared and I stared and I stared. “You knew?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.”

“You investigated me?”

“It’s a prudent thing to do, before asking a girl to become your wife.” He touched my hand. This time, I jerked away. “You think I married you for Ree. You have always believed I married you for Ree. But I didn’t. Or at least, not for her alone. I married you because of your mother, Sandy. Because you and I are alike that way. We know monsters are real, and they don’t all live under the bed.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” I heard myself say.

He was silent.

“She was mentally unstable. Suicide was probably only a matter of time. Last way to screw with us and all that.” I was babbling. Couldn’t shut up. Couldn’t stop myself. “I was getting a little too big to keep dragging to the emergency room, so she upped and killed herself instead. After planning the biggest funeral the town had ever seen, of course. Oh, the roses she demanded for the event. The mounds and mounds of fucking roses…”

My hands fisted at my sides. I stared at my husband. Dared him to call me a freak, an ungrateful daughter, a white trash piece of shit. Look at me, I wanted to cry. My mother lived and I hated her. She died and I hated her more. I am not normal.

“I understand,” he said.

“Afterward, I thought I would be happy. I thought, finally, my father and I could live in peace.”

Jason was studying me intently now. “When you first met me, you said you wanted to get away, never look back. You weren’t kidding, were you? All these years later, you’ve never called your father, never told him where we live, never let him know about Ree.”

“No.”

“You hate him that much?”

“All that and more.”

“You think he loved your mother more than you,” Jason stated. “He didn’t protect you. Instead, he covered for her. And you’ve never forgiven him for it.”

I didn’t answer right away. Because at that moment, I was picturing my father again, his charming smile, the crinkle lines that appeared at the corners of his bright blue eyes, the way he could make you feel as if you were the center of the universe just by touching your shoulder. And I was so filled with rage, I could barely speak.

I know something you don’t know. I know something you don’t know…

She had been right. She had been so fucking right.

“You said we’re different,” I whispered hoarsely. “You said we know better, that the monsters aren’t all under the bed.”

Jason nodded.

“Promise me, then: If you ever see my father, if he should ever show up at our front door, you’ll kill him first, and ask questions later. He’ll never touch Ree. Promise me that, Jason.”

My husband looked me in the eye. He said, “Consider it done.”

Ree fell asleep in her booster seat before Jason even pulled out of the parking lot. Mr. Smith was curled up in the passenger’s seat now, licking his paw, rubbing his cheek, licking his paw, rubbing his cheek. Jason drove aimlessly toward the interstate, not sure what to do.

He was tired. Exhausted. What he wanted most in the world was to curl up in the sanctuary of his own home, and let the world disappear. He would sleep like the dead, and when he woke up again, Sandra would be standing beside the bed, smiling down at him.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she would say, and he’d take her in his arms, and hold her as he should’ve been holding her the past five years. He would hug his wife, and he and Ree could be happy again. They would be a family.

He couldn’t go home. News vans would be there, staked out across the street. Lights would flash, reporters shouting out questions Ree was too young to understand. They would scare her, and after the morning she’d had, he couldn’t bear for her to be traumatized again.

The police believed he was guilty. He had seen it in their eyes, the minute the interview had concluded. His own daughter had implicated him, but he didn’t blame her. Ree had done what they’d asked of her; she had told the truth the best she understood it to be. He’d spent four years preaching to his daughter not to lie. He couldn’t be angry at her now for following the values he and Sandra had so carefully instilled in her.

He was proud of Ree, and that saddened him, because the more he turned the matter around in his mind, the more he arrived at the same inescapable conclusion: He would be arrested. Any day now, he supposed. The police were putting it all together now, building their case, buttoning it up tight. They’d taken his trash. They’d interrogated his child. Next would come a fresh sweep of his house, followed by a search warrant for his computer.

They would dig deeper into his background, trying to contact associates and friends; that would stall them for a bit. He never socialized with his associates and he never bothered to make friends. Plus, he checked his “firewalls” from time to time; they were holding tight. But nothing was impenetrable, especially once the right expert was brought to bear, and the Boston police had those kinds of resources. It wasn’t like he was dealing with backwoods yokels here.

Of course, they would have to tend to the registered sex offender. That would demand additional time and resources. Maybe the guy would confess, but having met the pervert in question, Jason didn’t see that happening. Aidan had seemed pretty cool, the kind of customer who’d been around. He’d make the police sweat for it.

So the police still had plenty of legwork to do, particularly with two viable suspects. Maybe that bought him more like three days, or five. Except that with every passing hour, the chances of Sandy being discovered alive dramatically decreased. Yesterday, there’d been a chance at a happy ending. Or maybe this morning.

If it became nightfall and Sandy still hadn’t appeared…

The instant they discovered Sandy’s body, that would be that. They’d come for him at his home. They would take Ree away from him. She would become a ward of the state. His daughter. The little girl he loved more than his very own life would be stuck in foster care.

He could hear Ree again, in the interrogation room, her singsong voice, reciting: “‘Please don’t do this. I won’t tell You can believe me. I’ll never tell. I love you. I still love you…’”

His hands trembled lightly on the steering wheel. He caught the tremor, forced himself to steady. Now was not the time. Had to keep thinking. Had to keep moving. He had the media in front of him, the police behind him, and his daughter to consider. Push it away, lock it up tight. That’s what he did best.

Keep thinking, keep moving. Figure out what happened to Sandy, quick, before the police took his daughter from him.

Then, in the next second, he thought of what his daughter had said again, all of what she’d said, and it came to him, his first glimmer of hope. Grieving husband, he reminded himself. Grieving husband.

He headed for Sandy’s middle school.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Jason was fourteen years old, he had heard his parents talking late one night, when they thought he was asleep.