Haley didn’t know what to say. She’d only ever rented. “The cottage you and Josie found us to rent is beautiful,” she tried. “But Dean thinks it wouldn’t be safe to raise a family so close to the rough water.” It was one of the only things Dean had ever said about starting a family. He was adamant they could not live on that river, and of course, with Emma disappearing there, Haley agreed.
“He’s probably right,” Noah said. He looked away, scanning the customers, his eyes landing on Chris ordering at the counter. The girl behind the counter looked college-age, and she was blushing at whatever Chris was saying. When Chris tipped back his head and laughed, so did she. Noah frowned as he watched their interaction. “Anyway, those houses on the river are a fortune,” he said.
Haley inhaled the scent of banana muffins wafting through the café. She needed to get to the precinct, but she didn’t want to dash off the second after Josie had left because something about that felt awkward, and she’d been accused of being awkward before. She was trying to be less so, to be more of a people person, because bedside manner was important no matter what kind of doctor she ended up being. The doctors at the hospital always emphasized how important it was to be present with patients, to try to read everything that appeared on their faces, not just in what they said. And Haley was able to do that in the room with a patient, but too often in the classroom she was distracted, her mind wandering during lectures—a few of her professors had called her out on it. The grief was one thing, but the not knowing was what kept her mind constantly turning.
“The house with the green shutters, is it private?” Haley asked. “Not a lot of neighbors?”
“Very private,” Noah said. “I don’t think you’ll even see the neighboring houses. It’s surrounded by woods.”
Haley nodded, hearing Dean’s voice saying the words. Privacy, Haley, we need a house with privacy. As though they had something to hide.
FOUR
Priya
Sure. I’ll meet. Where? When?
That was the text Priya had sent to Josie a few minutes ago, and now she was furiously scrubbing her kitchen, waiting for a reply. Her medication had kicked in, and she watched herself scrub the subway-tiled backsplash as though her hand were someone else’s body part. Tears burned Priya’s eyes and blurred her vision until the tiles smudged into each other, until she couldn’t see them well enough to clean. She stumbled back, blinking, and then turned on the water as hot and fast as it would go, letting the white noise and scorching temperature dull her senses as she rinsed out the sponge. Elliot would be home any moment from the neighbors’ house, and she needed to behave normally, not like someone being chased by skeletons a decade old. She put her soaking hands over her eyes and held them there until they turned cold and her breathing returned to normal.
Ten years ago, Josie Carmichael and Emma McCullough were Priya’s art students at Yarrow. They were just girls then, really, and Josie always sat at the easel front and center. Sometimes Priya would look up from her own painting and catch Josie staring at her. It was uncomfortable even to remember it.
Priya wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing at the sink. She’d been losing track of time ever since she started the new antianxiety medication Brad had prescribed, and it seemed to work in both directions: sometimes the minutes lengthened like taffy, and other times they sped up, scurrying together and vanishing before she could make sense of whatever she was supposed to be doing. She’d tried to tell Brad about the side effects at first, but he’d cut her off, asking, Are you saying you’re missing chunks of time? That’s very serious, Priya.
She’d shaken her head quickly and muttered a soft no because she wanted to stay on the meds, but now she wasn’t so sure.
The front door opened, and Priya felt herself relax just a bit. She stood up straighter and swiped beneath her eyes to clear any rogue makeup stains. The thunk of Elliot kicking off his shoes was enough to make her exhale fully. Her son was back. Maybe everything could be okay.
“Elliot,” she called, his name like candy in her mouth.
“Mama!” he called back, a word he only used when they were alone. In front of his father and his friends he said Mom.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Priya said, and Elliot loped into the room with a smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m starving,” he announced.
“Shocker,” Priya said, smiling back. Elliot was reed thin just like her, but his appetite was endless. Priya held her breath and waited, suspended inside the moment when Elliot would either come close for a hug or keep a cool distance. She wanted to reach forward and pull him to her like she’d done when he was little, but he was ten now, and she respected his big-kid body. She didn’t want to be the kind of mother who overtly needed his physical affection; she wanted to let him guide the terms of their relationship, which seemed to change every year, while staying the same in all the ways that mattered. He loved her, and it was all she needed.
Elliot stepped toward her as though he might hug her, but when he stopped short, the inches between them felt like a physical presence, like something Priya could wrap her hands around and squeeze the life out of. “So,” she asked quickly, turning to open the fridge. She found the kefir smoothie she’d made earlier and passed it to him. She never directly asked Elliot about school, or how his day was, because that made him clam up. He was unlike his father, who loved talking about his day and seemed affronted when Priya didn’t ask about it. In fact, Brad seemed to enjoy his life twice: once while living it, and then again when telling someone else all about it. But for Elliot, Priya kept her words to a minimum so he’d have room to talk.
“Thanks,” Elliot said, taking a slug of the smoothie. His eyes were bright brown orbs rimmed with a black circle that made them look like a cat’s eyes. His gorgeous, haphazard curls were courtesy of Brad. “Robby’s helping me fix my science project,” he said, an edge in his voice. Robby was a year older than Elliot, and he and his mother, Alex, were their only real friends on the street. The other neighbors mostly kept to themselves.
“Oh?” Priya asked, sensing he wanted to say more.
“Yeah,” Elliot said. “Because it was a flunk this week in school.”
“A flunk?” she asked. Her hands busied themselves by spinning her hair into a topknot.
“Yeah, you know, a flunk. It means like a failure.”
“Hmmm,” Priya said, nodding carefully. She always marveled at the way she could maintain eye contact with Elliot for so much longer than she could with anyone else. “How come?” she finally asked.
“Because the paper clip fell off the roof of the thing if I didn’t hold the magnet exactly right. You’d think Dad being a doctor would mean I could at least have a science project that didn’t suck,” he said. He blinked at her like he was waiting for her to tell him to be respectful of his father or not say suck, but she really only did that kind of parenting in front of Brad. Elliot was a genuinely kind soul, and Priya had a feeling he was going to stay that way as long as no one got in the way, including her. And anyway, he was right: Brad had hurried through that science project with him, acting like it was a chore. Priya was never less in love with Brad than when he was a mediocre father. There had been a very low point in their marriage when she’d considered leaving him, but she knew if she did her son would change irrevocably. It was a few years ago, when Elliot was seven and sensitive as ever, and as she watched his heart unfurling to the world she knew better than to do something that would close it. Of course, Priya understood why women and men left each other, and there were things Brad could have done that would have made her leave, too. But not that silly checkout girl at the gym, the one with brown curly hair and curves in the places Priya felt sunken.