The Deepest Secret (7 page)

She scans the seats and the floor. There it is, in the passenger foot well. She looks back through the windshield at the rain. She’ll just take a quick look. Reaching into her glove compartment, she pulls out her flashlight.

She climbs out into the storm. She’s soaked in an instant, the rain pummeling her, cold and blowing. She snatches at the hood of her raincoat and sloshes along the side of the road toward the trees. Water washes across the road in tides of motion. She crosses to where the ground falls steeply away to the river below and peers through the darkness. It’s impossible to make out anything. She’s absolutely drenched, the wind buffeting her. She glances behind her to the waiting car. She can barely see it from where she stands. Then she turns back, presses the button on her flashlight and directs the fragile beam of light at her shoes to guide herself as she climbs down the embankment, skidding in the mud. The wind blowing rain into her
face. It’s so dark. The trees cluster close. She grabs at branches to keep herself from falling, and when she reaches a level place, she looks around.

Down at the river’s edge, a blotch of … pink? She moves more quickly, her heart racing, stumbling the last few yards.

A punch of lightning that bleaches everything.

It can’t be
.

Not a deer, not an animal at all. A small figure in a pink raincoat. Little pink boots, lying at an angle. The wide forehead and narrow chin, the long blond hair.
Amy
.

She falls to her knees, panting, grabs Amy’s wrist, presses her thumb against the skin, feeling for a pulse. There’s nothing, not the tiniest flutter.
Come on come on
. She moves her thumb around, searching. She has to be wrong. Amy’s skin is so cold.
Oh God
.

She remembers CPR. She’s practiced it a million times.

She pushes the sides of the pink raincoat away, presses down hard on Amy’s chest with the heels of her hands five times. When she takes Amy’s head between her hands, it lolls alarmingly.
No
.

She leans over. Two breaths. Back to chest compressions. Two breaths again. The world squeezes down to silence.

Come on come on come on
. It’s going to be okay. Amy’s going to be okay.
Focus focus don’t give up
.

Rain falls on the back of her head, slides down her neck. Thunder crackles. The woods flash white. Amy doesn’t blink when the lightning flares. She’s staring up. There’s nothing in her eyes.

Eve can’t stop. She won’t stop.

Two breaths. Five compressions. Two breaths. Five compressions.

Her breath is ragged. Her arms ache and her eyes burn with tears. “Please.” She says this out loud, over and over, stopping only to breathe into Amy’s mouth. Trees shake. Water runs into her clothes, finds her skin. Amy is limp, utterly and completely limp.

She stops. She just stops. She pulls Amy into her arms. This
small girl, whom she’s known and loved all these years. It can’t be. It can’t.

She sobs, rasps out words that make no sense, pulls Amy’s soaked hair from her cold forehead. Help. She needs to get help, tell someone what’s happened. She lays Amy’s limp body down, water running in rivulets all around them, and pulls her cell phone from her raincoat pocket. “It’s okay,” she tells Amy. She can barely hear herself in the downpour. “It’s okay. Mommy will be here soon.” Oh God. How will she tell Charlotte?

She swipes droplets from her shaking fingers, taps the tiny phone icon. The phone lights up. She presses 9-1…

A text message scrolls across the top of her phone. David! He’s wondering where she is. He’s wondering why she’s taking so long. But no. This isn’t the message he leaves.

Sorry forgot the camera

She stares, bewildered. What camera? Then it all rolls back. Tyler’s camera, the one he’s been longing for. The one Eve researched and ordered; the one David picked up in Washington and was supposed to bring home yesterday. Yet here he is, telling her he’s left it behind.

The screen of her phone’s gone black, waiting for her to finish dialing. All she has to do is press the button on the side of the phone and tap the final digit.

The operator will answer. Eve will describe her location. Emergency personnel will swarm down the side of the ravine. The police will take her away, just like they had that boy last year who’d plowed into a taxicab, killing the driver. He’d been texting, too, and now he was in prison, serving four years.

Her phone slides from her fingers. She scrabbles in the leaves for it, stares at the screen.

Sorry forgot the camera

What will happen to Tyler?

David forgets to make doctor appointments. He opens doors
that should be kept closed. He wants to drive her son across the country to a strange house. He tells their son it’s okay to take off his sweatshirt. He doesn’t even think to check him over later.

The rain slashes through the trees, unforgiving. It courses down the embankment; it turns everything black and gray and lashing. Fog rises up. She is kneeling in muck. She is soaked to the bone.

Her parents can’t help. They won’t. Melissa’s too young. David’s sister lives in Arizona. There’s only David, and all he had to do was remember to bring home Tyler’s fucking camera.

Amy lies beside her, leaves blown all around. She’s gone. She’s past saving. But Tyler’s still here. He’s waiting at home. He needs her. He has no one else. God help them both, he has no one else.

Sorry

Eve staggers to her feet. The ground sways. She can’t look behind her, at Amy. The slope stretches before her, a thousand miles to the dark sky. Her feet slide beneath her. She grabs at trees to haul herself up. The road seems so far away. She puts one foot in front of the other, sinking each one into the sodden earth and then pulling it back up with effort. She breaks free of the woods, stumbles out onto pavement, where the rain comes harder, scouring, punishing. She wraps her arms around herself, though it’s no use. Where’s her car? She can’t remember which direction she’d come from. There it is, hulking on the side of the road a distance away.

Three tries before she fits the key into the ignition. The engine catches and the road is illuminated. The world is drowning in rain. She’s drenched to the marrow, her teeth chattering. She’s never been so cold in her life. Her hair snakes wetly down the back of her neck. It wraps around her throat, and she drags it free. She presses the pedal and the car lurches forward.

She can’t think about Amy. She can’t think about Charlotte. She won’t think about David. Tyler’s the one who matters. She says this over and over to herself as she drives on through the darkness, the storm gathering around her and pressing down.

COME OUT, COME OUT
WHEREVER YOU ARE

T
he house phone never rings. Tyler shuts the kitchen door and goes over to the phone hanging on the wall. He scans the display. It’s Amy’s cell phone number. At least it’s not his mom or dad, asking to talk to Melissa. He picks up the receiver. “What?” he says, irritated.

But it’s Charlotte. “Tyler, let me speak to your mom.”

“She’s not here. She’s picking my dad up at the airport.”

“Damn, that’s right. Listen, have you seen Amy?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s a demand, and stern. Charlotte’s never mean.

“Yes.” And now he’s curious. Why would she think Amy was over here? He’s just told her she’s not.

“Could you check, please?”

Amy couldn’t have come in without his knowing, but maybe she’s coming down the sidewalk. “Hold on.”

There are two locks on the door, one a deadbolt and one a chain up high from when he was little and his mom was afraid he’d sneak out during the day when she wasn’t looking. He undoes the locks and swings open the door. Rain pounds the porch roof, streams down in curtains. He squints into the darkness beyond. Up the street, red taillights bounce as a car backs out of the Farnhams’ driveway. No sign of Amy. No sign of Melissa returning. “I don’t see her.”

“Check the patio.”

“But it’s raining.”

“Tyler, please.”

Charlotte sounds really worried. “Okay,” he says, puzzled. He twists the lock and opens the French door to peer into the black of the patio. No pale face turns to him. No flash of pink in the dark. It’s raining really hard. No way would Amy be out in it. “Sorry,” he tells Charlotte. “She’s not here.”

“Let me know if she shows up, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, Charlotte hangs up.

DAVID

T
he Columbus airport’s noisy and crowded. Several flights had arrived simultaneously. David walks past security, the pretzel place, the gift shop. Eve hasn’t responded to his text message. He hadn’t even realized he’d left the camera on his desk until he’d arrived at airport security and looked around for the bag to set it on the conveyor belt. Tyler will be disappointed, but it’s not the end of the world. Eve will be annoyed. No doubt she’s still upset about the sunburn. David had had no idea. Tyler had never said a word about it. Well, thank God it turned out to be nothing.

He’s looking forward to this three-day weekend. He and Tyler can grill out every night. Tyler loves to adjust the flame, stab food with long-handled forks. This is as close as David can get him to the hunting trips his own father used to take him on, across the Nebraska prairies.

Melissa will probably be busy with her friends. She used to Skype with him for hours while he was holed up in some hotel in San Francisco or Raleigh, gabbing away in front of the laptop screen, twining hair around her forefinger. She’d carry the computer around the house and give David tours. Here’s the water stain on the ceiling that Mommy just noticed. Here are the new pillows she helped Mommy pick out for the couch. She’d even take him outside, the screen going black while they waited in the garage for the door to lift, then the light would burst in and she’d walk with him outside to show him the withered brown stalks by the deck.
Ty and I planted lilies
, she’d announce.
There was a big jumping spider!

Now she gives David clipped two-minute segments over the phone. Just the highlights, and lately, even those have been winnowed down to monosyllabic responses to his questions. He’s running out of things to ask her.

He looks up, and at first he doesn’t recognize Eve. Not because he doesn’t expect to see her here—they had stopped meeting outside security a year ago—and not because she’s dripping wet, but how could he have forgotten how beautiful she is? He walks toward her and sees other men are looking at her, too. He can’t help it. He feels a swell of pride.

She’s searching the crowd, half-turned away, and when he calls her name, she whirls around. Her eyes are blank. She looks … lost.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, reaching for her, their earlier argument dissolved. She’s shivering. When he kisses her, her lips are cold beneath his.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

This touches him. She’d been worried about the delay, anxious about him flying through rough weather. She doesn’t like how much flying he has to do. “I’ll drive,” he says, and she nods.

They begin walking to the exit. She’s caught his hand between hers and is leaning against him. He squeezes her hand. Is that Melissa’s
shirt she’s wearing? It’s amazing that she and their daughter are now the same size. “I got your message about our new neighbors,” he says. “That’s good news.”

The instant the previous owners listed their house for sale, Eve had wanted to march over there and make sure they told the new owners that they couldn’t use halogen light bulbs in their outdoor fixtures. David had had to dissuade her.
People are reasonable
, he’d said.
Like the Farnhams?
she’d retorted. Which was true. Eve had lost her battle with Joan and Larry.

“What did you think of them?” he asks. “Our new neighbors?” She looks at him with some confusion. He repeats the question and her expression clears. “Fine,” she says.

He frowns. Normally, Eve would give a complete rundown of all the facts she’s gathered, from what kinds of cars they drive to whether they bring their trash to the curb in a timely manner. She’d add her impressions of how they interact with the other neighbors, and whether or not they’ll be a pleasant addition to the cul-de-sac. But she’s silent, staring straight ahead. He can only see her profile.

“I’m sorry I forgot Tyler’s camera,” he says. “I had it right there on my desk. I’ll talk to Tyler, explain that I left it at work. He’ll understand.”

She doesn’t answer.

They step outside. The rain is noisy here, rapping hard on the metal roof of the parking garage. Cars gleam; dark puddles lie everywhere. There’s the car, skewed at an angle beneath the security light. “Keys?” he asks, and she drops them in his outstretched hand. He presses the button and the car doors unlock. It’s good to slide in behind the steering wheel. The car smells clean and faintly of Eve’s perfume. He buckles up. They both begin to speak at the same time.

“David,” she says, just as he says, “You’ll never guess what happened today.”

They both stop. “Sorry,” he says. “I interrupted you.”

She’s huddled in her seat, with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped tight around them. She’s clearly freezing. He switches on the heat. “It’s okay,” she says.

“Remember Preston Berry? The guy who works down the hall from me? He was out sick today and I ended up covering for him.” He switches the wipers on high and accelerates onto the swooping highway. Passing cars send up rooster tails of water, their brake lights sparking. “I wish Stan had asked someone else. Turned out to be a god-awful mess.”

He tells her about poring over the numbers, about how they looked fine at first, but when he went to plug them into his own spreadsheet, they fell apart and that’s when he discovered the deception. As he talks, he hears himself sorting things through.
Eve’s listening intently
, he thinks, not interrupting or asking questions, but letting him pour the whole story out. It always helps to talk to her. “I’d never have thought Preston would do something like that, you know? I guess it just goes to show you can’t really know what someone’s capable of.” They’ve reached their exit, and he turns off the highway. They’re almost home.