• • •
A year later, on the other side of Montreal, that was what Kate wished she could do. She was tired, so tired. Both alert with adrenaline and weakened by the less and less sleep she’d had leading up to this day. But she got the boys home without another incident, fed them, and tucked them in for their afternoon naps. Autopilot. It had its uses.
She circled back to the kitchen, enjoying the silence. Andrea was out at one of her lady lunches from which she’d come home two-glass tipsy and wanting to talk to Kate about why Rick was working so much and did she think it meant anything.
Hell yes, Kate wanted to say. Maybe not cheating. But, at the very least, that he didn’t want to come home. Instead, she always reassured Andrea. Told her she was imagining things, because what else could she do? But she couldn’t stand another conversation about Andrea’s insecurities. She had to be the least intuitive person on the planet.
Kate knew she hid things well. Her own husband had never asked her how she spent her time. Never voiced any suspicion. She knew better than to give him any reason to. But still, even if she was a rank sociopath, she put out enough odd vibes that Andrea should be asking questions. She should be suspicious. Not of her husband, who maybe was banging some pliant girl in his office but was probably simply trying to make enough money to keep paying for this lifestyle. But of the woman to whom she’d entrusted her children without so much as a background check.
Kate paced through the first floor, fear like she hadn’t known in a year catapulting through her body. She wasn’t sure what the trigger was, other than the obvious. And maybe that was the answer? Her stupid plan hadn’t worked. The idea that she could forget what the day was by avoiding screens?
She didn’t need a screen to remember.
INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
TJ: How are you doing today, Franny?
FM: I’m good.
TJ: Was that Mr. Ring who dropped you off?
FM: Yes, why?
TJ: I’ve been trying to schedule my next interview with him. If you have any influence there, I’d appreciate it if he’d get in touch.
FM: This is hard for Josh . . . Mr. Ring.
TJ: I get that.
FM: Is it a problem? If he drops out of the documentary?
TJ: Did he say he was going to?
FM: I’m just wondering.
TJ: Ask him to call me, all right?
FM: Sure, I can do that.
TJ: Thank you. So, I’d like to fill in a few holes from the other day.
FM: No problem.
TJ: Why don’t we start with you telling me more about meeting your mother for the first time? What was that like?
FM: It was awkward at first, but we connected quickly. It kind of felt like . . . You know that feeling you get when you come back to your apartment after traveling? How it smells familiar? It felt like that. Like a place I couldn’t believe I’d been away from for so long.
TJ: That’s an interesting way of describing it.
FM: Thank you. I’ve been thinking about that poem, you know.
TJ: Which poem?
FM: That one by Tennyson you were quoting the other day. I looked it up.
TJ: Did you?
FM: I envy not in any moods / The captive void of noble rage, / The linnet born within the cage, / That never knew the summer woods . . . I love that.
TJ: It is lovely.
FM: And I get it, you know? That’s what I was . . . A linnet born within the cage. A linnet is a kind of bird, right? Did you know that? Anyway, I was living in a prison, but finding my mother and all this happening . . .
TJ: It set you free?
FM: That sounds bad. I didn’t mean that. Of course I’m not happy my mother’s dead.
TJ: Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply—
FM: Can you please cut that part out? I wouldn’t want anyone to think that. Because it’s not true. It’s not.
TJ: It’s all right, Franny. I won’t use it if you don’t want me to.
FM: I know you’re going to, okay? Don’t lie to me.
TJ: Whoa, hold up. I’ve never lied to you.
FM: Sure. Right. Do you think I was born yesterday?
TJ: Of course not. Look, here . . . [Shuffling] I’m erasing the last few minutes, all right?
FM: It’s really erased?
TJ: Yes, I promise.
FM: [Muttering] Pull it together.
TJ: What’s that?
FM: It’s nothing. Are we back on?
TJ: Hold on. Now we are.
FM: So we’re starting again?
TJ: When you’re ready.
FM: Does my makeup look okay?
TJ: You look great, Franny. Ready?
FM: Yes.
TJ: I’ll ask the same question again, okay?
FM: Okay.
TJ: Can you tell us more about meeting your mother for the first time?
FM: It was . . . It was perfect. Like the mother-daughter relationship I always wished I’d had.
13
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
CECILY
We went to New York.
After I received Tom’s texts with my hands stuffed into a display case full of sexy underwear, I still went with him to New York for our twentieth wedding anniversary.
When I got control of myself again, I bought whatever I was holding in Victoria’s Secret, went home, and finished packing. I packed Tom’s bag, too, because he’d texted me an hour later asking me if I could. I was fairly sure that text was a ploy, a tactic to make sure I hadn’t seen the others, that somehow his phone was lying to him and he hadn’t been discovered. Or maybe he was trying to push those texts into the background, hide them from view, which is why he sent a long, rambling one followed by several short ones. Perhaps he was hoping I thought it was some silly joke, something that would be revealed to me on our romantic weekend, and I was waiting for him to enlighten me. Have a ha-ha moment.
I’ve often wondered since then whether Tom thought I was stupid. I never would’ve believed that before, but after a lot of thought, it’s the only explanation I can come up with. That he must’ve assumed I wouldn’t know what the texts meant. That I was so in love with him I’d trust whatever lie he was preparing to spin. That because he’d behaved uncharacteristically—or so I thought, but what the fuck did I know?—he could
