The Deepest Secret (32 page)

“Scott fell out of the castle,” Eve reminds her, “and broke his leg.”

“Larry Farnham kept insisting Scott had fallen on Albert’s yard and not his. Just in case we wanted to sue.” Charlotte pushes the paper into the trash bag and they set off down the narrow sidewalk to the next streetlight. “Mom wants to use Amy’s birth announcement, but I don’t know. It’s not the most flattering.”

Two-day-old Amy with her puffy, squeezed-shut eyes and the red mark on her forehead from the forceps. She’d been dragged into the world, reluctant and blinking, to suit the obstetrician’s vacation schedule. Charlotte always said that was why Amy was so stubborn, to punish Charlotte for not letting Amy decide when she was ready to be born.

“We should definitely use the one from her baptism,” Charlotte decides.

Amy lying on her back in her long white gown, her arms extended on either side of her as if bracing herself. Those slippery pearl buttons on the back of the dress had drawn the fabric tight, too tight, so Eve and Charlotte decided to leave the top two buttons unfastened. It had been Nikki’s baptism dress, but Nikki had been a smaller baby. Amy just barely squeezed in. Her feet peeped out from beneath the hem of the lacy dress, clad in tiny white patent leather booties that kept falling off.

“Remember how we looked everywhere for that shoe?” Eve asks. They’d crawled on their hands and knees and searched beneath every pew.

“Her right shoe, just like Melissa.”

They had laughed, saying their daughters were twins separated at birth.

Charlotte had warned that Amy would howl the moment the priest dripped water across her forehead, but Amy had lain peacefully in Eve’s arms, her brown eyes calm and thoughtful. Afterward, Eve had kissed her.
Good girl
, she’d murmured. She’d give anything, now, to go back to that perfect moment.

“Remember when Owen hid Amy’s Easter basket in the dryer, and I didn’t know and turned it on? The jelly beans melted over everything.” Amy had gnawed at a sugarcoated towel to try to pry the candy loose. “I don’t know why Owen’s doing this,” Charlotte says, and Eve knows she’s not talking about Easter anymore.

“It’s okay. The police won’t find anything.”

Robbie’s explained that yes, he took the ravine road from his restaurant to Charlotte’s house because there’s a good place to pick up Chinese food along the way, and he’s explained that he did give Amy the shamrock-embossed shot glass found in her bedroom trashcan because he often gave her small things from his restaurant. The text he’d sent Amy—
shape up or else
—was meant as a joke, not a threat.

What Robbie can’t explain is his lack of an alibi. What he can’t defend are the two speeding tickets he’s gotten. Owen’s pressed hard on those two points, and apparently the new detective’s listened. He’s interrogated Charlotte three times in the past few days. She’s afraid he thinks that she and Robbie are mixed up in something bad.
How can he?
Eve asked.
It was an accident
. But Charlotte had not been reassured.
He thinks there’s something else going on
. Eve had been confused.
Like what?
But Charlotte didn’t know.

First Charlotte, now Robbie. No one was safe.

“It’s hard to believe I was ever in love with Owen,” Charlotte says. “I really thought we’d be together forever. What a cliché.”

“It’s not a cliché. It’s hard. Marriage is hard,” she says, thinking of David’s unhappy face.

“My parents made it look easy. They stayed in love until my dad died.”

Charlotte knows not to mention Eve’s parents, though they, too, are still together. They stuff another flyer into the bag and move on.

“I’m thinking about selling the house,” Charlotte says.

Charlotte doesn’t think. She does. So what she’s really saying is that she’s moving. Of course she is. How can she stay in the house where Amy vanished, where her life was cut so abruptly short, where every time she goes out that front door she’ll think of the last time Amy had stepped over the threshold? “I’m going to miss you,” Eve says. Terribly, desperately.

“I won’t move far, just a few miles.”

Yes, but it won’t be the same, and they both know it.

“I haven’t touched a thing in Amy’s room,” Charlotte says. “I’ll have to make decisions.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Okay.”

Charlotte squints into the sun. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone.”

Here’s a secret, Charlotte’s gift for leaving, her compensation, a promise that would keep them friends, no matter what distance separates them. “It’s okay,” Eve says, not wanting to know.

“It’s about the polygraph.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It matters to me. I lied when I said that I didn’t know how long Amy was missing. I knew exactly how long she’d been gone. I heard her sneak out. I heard the door close. I thought,
Good
. I thought she’d sit on the porch and cool off, and then we could have a reasonable conversation about the whole thing.”

“You couldn’t have known she’d go out in the storm.” But Amy was always doing risky things. Climbing that tree in Larry Farnham’s yard. Eating a teaspoon of cinnamon on a dare. Sneaking to the park late at night.

“I let her sit out there for thirty minutes. When I went to get her, she was gone.”

“Thirty minutes.” Half an hour. An eternity.

“I can’t stop playing it over and over. If only I’d stopped her when I heard the door open. If only I’d gone out to see if she was on the porch. It was just one of those decisions, you know? I was mad. I was relieved to have the break.”

An extra second. That’s all Eve would have needed. A single click of the second hand on the clock, and she and Charlotte wouldn’t be standing here now, everything shattered, as the heat boils down and strips them bare. Eve sways. She thinks she’s going to faint.

Charlotte sits down on the curb, wraps her arms around her bare, bent knees. “I’d do anything to take it back. Anything.”

Words. That’s all they are. There’s no rewinding the clock. Eve sits down, and Charlotte leans into her. Her skin is warm, sticky with sweat.

“Amy died, and I wasn’t with her. I was in my safe, dry house, thinking how great it was to have some peace and quiet.” Charlotte sighs, a puff of air against Eve’s arm. “Did she know she was dying? Did she call out for me?”

Eve could lift this pain from her friend. But Tyler’s waiting for her. He needs her. She has to get home to him.

“I can’t cry anymore. All I’ve done is cry. I’ve used up all my tears.”

Eve had wept for months after Tyler’s diagnosis, inconsolably, out of nowhere. She’d be standing in the grocery store and reach for his little hand and remember he wasn’t there. Everywhere she looked there were small boys out in the daylight, doing ordinary things. She’d emptied herself out, become a shell, and then one day Charlotte had moved in and walked down the street to knock on Eve’s front door.

The sun sits hard in the sky, uncompromising. It shoots beams of light through the branches, deflects them off passing chrome bumpers and windows, presses them against the thin cotton of her
dress. Sweat trickles down her spine. Insects buzz in the grass. Her temples ache with the effort of keeping silent.

One second, out of trillions and trillions. Just one.

“Go home,” Eve says. “I’ll finish this.”

Charlotte nods and pushes herself up.

A car whizzes past, blowing Eve’s hair up in a gust of exhaust. The long ribbon of asphalt stretches out in front of her. Charlotte is a distant figure. Eve scrabbles at the dangling paper, yanks it free, and drops it into the bag at her feet. A hundred down. Hundreds more to go.

DAVID

D
avid stands frowning into the refrigerator, its shelves bare. When was the last time anyone bought milk? Or bread, for that matter? He’d come in from mowing the lawn to make a sandwich and found the dried end of a loaf of bread buried beneath an onion that had sprouted a thick green root. As he backs the car out of the driveway, he sees the new family leaving for church. It’s been years since he’s attended a church service. Eve refuses. She said she didn’t want to communicate with a God who would bless the world with sunshine only to condemn a child from ever seeing it.
What about Melissa’s needs?
David had asked, and Eve had answered,
What about Tyler’s?

It’s on his way back from the store that he sees someone walking along the side of the road ahead of him. For a brief disorienting moment, he thinks of Charlotte, running along the road that terrible stormy night. He draws closer and sees that it’s Eve.

She turns as he pulls up alongside her. She’s gripping a bulging trash bag by the neck. He rolls down the window. “What are you doing?”

“Taking down the flyers.”

He’s gotten used to seeing them on the street signs and telephone posts. He’s begun to look through them as though they aren’t there. “Good idea. You need any help?”

“No, it’s okay. I think I got them all.”

“Well, jump in. I’m on my way home.”

She opens the door and climbs in, bringing with her the smell of grass and heat. Her shoulders are pink with sun. “Where’ve you been?”

“Grocery shopping. How’s Charlotte? Any news?”

“The funeral’s Saturday.”

He thinks about that. “Okay. I’ll try to make it.”

She shakes her head and looks out the window.

“I told you I’ve had to take on extra work now that Preston’s gone. I just don’t think I’ll make it home this weekend. I know I should have said something, but I thought I’d be further along.”

“Okay.”

They drive the rest of the way in silence. He pulls the car into the garage and switches off the engine.

“Eve? David?” It’s Sophie, on the driveway behind them, peering in. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” he says. “Everything okay?”

Sophie stands there in full sun, as though unwilling to come any farther. She’s got that broad-brimmed straw hat perched on her head, shadowing her narrow face. Her white shirt is long-sleeved, hanging loose over her brown slacks. Her gardening gloves are a discordant neon green. He goes out to meet her, with Eve. “You heard about that Peeping Tom, right?” Sophie asks.

“Why? Have you seen him?” Eve asks.

“No. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

Sophie gnaws her lower lip. “Not even a car that doesn’t belong?”

“I don’t think so.”

Sophie exhales. “I’m thinking about putting in an alarm system.”

“Good idea,” he says. After all, Sophie lives alone and her house backs up to the park.

“The company I interviewed suggested changing my outdoor bulbs. They say the ones I have now aren’t strong enough.”

She sounds defiant, and he wonders why. Then Eve says slowly, “Are you talking about switching to halogen light bulbs?”

“Maybe.” Sophie’s misery is evident.

He looks at the span of space between his house and hers. How many feet is it—twelve? Fifteen? Not enough.

Eve puts her hand on Sophie’s arm. “What about Tyler?”

“I know, but I figure if he goes out your back door and stays across the street—”

“That won’t work,” Eve says. They don’t know how far UV travels. She’s consulted scientists about this. No one’s been able to give her a definitive answer. They know that UV diminishes as it travels through space, but at what point does it vanish completely?
I wouldn’t take any chances
, the dermatologist has warned them.

“What if I only turn them on late at night?” Sophie says.

Eve shakes her head. “You might forget and leave them burning all day. What about during the winter when the sun goes down early? Please, Sophie.”

“I live alone. It’s different.”

“How about installing more lights, then?” Eve looks at David. “We’ll pay for it, won’t we?”

“Can’t Tyler wear that mask he used to wear?” Sophie says.

“Sure.” He wants to stop this. Sophie’s made up her mind. She’s not listening anymore. Can’t Eve see that? Eve frowns at him, turns back to Sophie. “He won’t wear it. He says it makes him look like a freak.”

“Let me think about it.” Sophie moves back, pulling away from Eve’s grip on her arm. “Okay?”

“How about getting a dog?” Eve says.

Doesn’t she see how ridiculous she’s being? “Sophie doesn’t want a dog,” he says, warning. “Come on. Let’s put away the groceries.”

Eve’s not listening. Her attention is focused on Sophie, who’s edging away. “Halogen bulbs aren’t that much brighter. They really aren’t.”

She’s talking to Sophie’s back. She whirls around to look at him, her face twisted with accusation. “Why did you do that? Why did you let her think it was okay?”

“I didn’t let her do anything. This is America, Eve. People can choose what light bulbs they want to use.” He pulls the plastic grocery sacks from the backseat.

She punches the button and the garage door lowers, squeezing out the light. “Tyler won’t be able to leave the house at all.”

“Then he’ll just have to wear his mask.”

“But he
won’t
.” Her voice sails up.

“He will if he wants to go outside.”

They’re sealed in darkness. He opens the kitchen door and she pushes past him. “There’s got to be a way I can stop her. Maybe I can sue?”

“You sound like a crazy person.”

She stops and looks at him, her hands flat on the counter. “How crazy is it to want to save my child?”

All the cures she’s chased down over the years, the injections, the gel, some kind of blood treatment. The endless fundraisers. The hours hunched over a computer or staring into space. Everything, everything has revolved around keeping Tyler safe. “You’re not the only one, Eve. We’re all trying to protect him, but we have to be reasonable.” He opens the refrigerator to put the milk away.

“How? How do
you
protect him, David? Tell me exactly what you’ve done to keep Tyler safe.”

“Is that what you think? You think I don’t care?”

She pushes the refrigerator door shut, bottles clanking, making him step back with surprise. “You
don’t
think. You let things slide. You take the easy way out. You don’t make the hard choices.”