You Know What You Did, page 6
Tabby stares at her feet but doesn’t say no. She scampers upstairs, thumbs tapping furiously on her phone, no doubt running it by Aimee.
“We’ll see if that works,” Duncan says with a tired sigh.
“Thank you. You always find a way to save me—us.”
As she says this, Annie can’t help but wince slightly, her gratitude tinged with resentment. Duncan can do no wrong in Tabby’s eyes, whereas Annie can only ever mess up.
* * *
Saturday morning, Annie’s eyes are glued to the road, but she barely sees it. She’s too distracted. When she pulled out of the driveway a few minutes ago, a ginger cat darted in front of the car.
“That cat! Did I hit it?” she shouted to Tabby in the back seat.
“Huh? I didn’t see a cat. Um . . . why couldn’t Dad drop us off?”
“What? He left for his panel at six a.m. I can’t answer your questions now, okay? I’m driving.”
She didn’t hear Tabby’s muttered response. Too many doubts cycling through her brain.
How far in front of the car was the cat—twenty yards, ten, five, even less? Did it make it across the road to the ditch? What if you killed it without knowing? Soft flesh, fine bones—silently crushed under one and a half tons of metal. Maybe you should go back and check.
Glancing at the impatient teenager, Annie knows she can’t backtrack now. She drives the remaining ten miles to the spring festival at a snail’s pace. When they arrive, she parks far away from the other cars. She’d rather walk than risk even dinging another vehicle. Before the engine’s off, Tabby is halfway out the door.
“Finally! I’m going home with Aimee after,” she says, slamming the door and disappearing to find her friend.
Once Tabby is out of eyesight, Annie paces around the dusty blue Corolla, checking the tire treads for bits of ginger fur, blood, entrails. She circles the car several times, doubt swirling in her brain. Did you hit it? Check the tires one more time to make sure. One more time won’t hurt.
Her phone pings with a text from Danielle asking where she is. Annie casts a weary glance toward the already crowded soccer field and tries to summon enough courage to face the snobby parent cliques of Park Waldorf Academy, where the annual tuition rivals the GDP of a small island nation. Though the elite school’s marketing materials tout “charting your own course,” the parents are remarkably similar—Tesla dads and Peloton moms.
Annie breathes a sigh of relief when she spots Danielle’s familiar face across the parking lot. She’s engaged in an animated conversation with a high school student. It isn’t until Annie is right next to them that she realizes the pretty blonde clad in a form-fitting lime-green tank dress is actually a parent. Danielle introduces her as Nina, the chairperson of this year’s festival.
Annie can’t help but stare enviously at Nina’s expertly shaped eyebrows, trendy manicure, impossibly toned legs, and smooth, bronzy skin. She’s suddenly conscious of the ever-deepening bags under her own eyes and of her cheeks, which recently developed a constellation of age spots.
They exchange information about their kids—Nina has one boy in Park Waldorf’s lower elementary. Then with a cheerful smile and a slight Eastern European accent, Nina asks Annie, “And you do what, girlie?”
“I’m a painter,” Annie says. Then feeling the need to qualify her statement, she adds, “I mean I do it on the side. Part time. I’m not famous or anything.”
“Don’t be so modest,” Danielle interjects. “Annie is crazy talented. She’s going to be featured in SouthernHer magazine. They’re doing a whole profile on her.”
Nina’s face lights up. “An artist! That’s so amazing. My father played violin in the Sarajevo Philharmonic Orchestra.” She adds wistfully, “I have such respect for creative genius.”
Blushing, Annie shakes her head modestly, but being someone in this sea of successful strangers relaxes her. She strides across the soccer field with her shoulders squared and a lightness in her step.
* * *
The arts and crafts booth proves to be so popular that hardly an hour passes before they’re out of clean palettes and water. Danielle has her hands full with a pair of rowdy twin boys who are attempting to paint a wind chime, as their mother coos, “Noah’s the color savant!” Annie wonders which one she’s referring to—the boy trying to stab his brother in the eye with a paintbrush, or the one ducking.
“Going on a supply run. Be right back,” Annie says, jumping on the opportunity to flee. She fills a shopping bag with dirty palettes and slings it over her shoulder, then stacks buckets inside one another and slips their collective handles over her wrist.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Danielle says. “And if you see Ray, tell him I’m looking for him. He’s supposed to be helping, but he’s wandered off somewhere. If only every husband were as reliable as dear, old Duncan.”
There’s a sharpness to Danielle’s tone that makes Annie look back. Could it be jealousy? But Danielle’s smiling face betrays no signs of bitterness.
On the way to the art studio, Annie passes by the musical chairs game run by Tabby and Aimee. Annie’s hands are too full to wave, and the girls don’t seem to notice her. They’re busy laughing their heads off as they start and stop an Olivia Rodrigo song. Annie frowns, observing that Tabby has applied a full face of makeup since leaving the car. Did she do this every time Annie dropped her off at school?
A pale, lanky boy dressed in a button-down and chinos attends the prize table. It’s stacked high with brownies, cookies, and cakes. Annie resists the urge to call out and warn Tabby against eating anything. Four out of ten Americans surveyed admitted to not washing their hands after using the bathroom at home—and that was just counting the honest ones. Bake sales, potlucks, you could never be sure what you were putting in your mouth. When the round ends, Tabby runs over to the prize table. Even with her daughter’s back facing her, Annie can tell Tabby’s thankfully not picking up any of the desserts.
The buckets and palettes shift awkwardly in Annie’s hands, and she’s about to continue on to the art studio when she sees the boy slide his hand into the back pocket of Tabby’s jeans—and she lets him. The intimacy of the gesture so casually executed triggers a chain of emotions in Annie. Confusion. Why didn’t she tell you she has a boyfriend? Anger. Is this pimply-faced boy a bad influence? Is he the reason Tabby’s turned against you? Fear. What else have they done?
Annie doesn’t want to confront her daughter. Afraid to see anything more, she turns away and disappears into the crowd.
CHAPTER 12
By the time she reaches the fine arts building, Annie has calmed down. She’s convinced herself that Tabby and the boy were probably just showing off, mimicking older high school kids. That was the extent of it. Besides, she knows her daughter. If she’s confronted, Tabby will go on the offense and accuse Annie of spying and being a helicopter mom.
Still debating her next move, Annie pushes the swinging door open with her hip. She stops halfway, alarmed by a strange gurgling noise coming from somewhere inside the classroom.
Ray Park, Danielle’s husband, stands behind a wide butcher block table. Backlit by huge floor-to-ceiling windows, he has his eyes closed. For a moment, Annie thinks he’s praying, and then his face twists into something between a grimace and a grin. She opens her mouth to say hello but shuts it when she sees a flash of lime green and realizes he is not alone. Nina’s head bobs up.
Ray’s infidelity isn’t the first thing to register in Annie’s brain. What if semen gets on the table or the floor? Innocent children could touch it or step on it. Even a drop could spread around the school and be tracked home on the soles of their shoes. The ever-spiraling train of thoughts disgusts her.
With the steely deftness of someone who’s been caught in the act before, Ray rearranges his face into an unnaturally calm smile. “Annie! Nina was giving me a tour of the art facilities,” he says, zipping up his jeans as though nothing’s happened. “My family is considering some new investments.”
The Park Family Endowment holds two permanent seats on the school’s board of directors. Their surname, rather than any leafy green space, put the Park in Park Waldorf Academy. With sleek black hair and rippling muscles, Danielle’s husband resembles the chisel-jawed doctor in one of the medical dramas Annie follows. The thought of spoiled Ray, with his notoriously low attention span, in an actual medical school forces Annie to stifle a nervous giggle.
“Annie? Are you feeling okay? Is something amusing to you?” he asks.
“I . . . I was just looking for the utility sink to wash these things out.”
“Oh! It’s right over there,” Nina says, gesturing to the corner of the room. “Sorry, the water runs really cold, but there are paper towels under the sink if you need them.”
Or if you need them. Annie makes a mental note to avoid the spot where they’re standing.
As he leaves, Ray shoots Annie a nasty warning look—one he probably saves for the interns at his private equity firm—but she’s already made up her mind not to get involved. Nothing good can come from seeing that. Ray’s dalliances were an open secret among the parents of Park Waldorf—because he’d slept with many of them. Danielle seemed willfully oblivious to her husband’s cheating.
On the way back to the arts and crafts booth, Annie’s head swims. She tells herself it’s better to stay out of the Park marriage. You know what happens to the messenger. Besides, she’s not sure she’d want to know if Duncan cheated. Sometimes it’s better to look away.
Absorbed in her thoughts, Annie stumbles over a divot in the soccer field. She wobbles and regains her balance, but the too-full water bucket in her hand slips. Just before it falls and explodes onto the grass like a bomb, rough hands and a mop of wavy brown hair materialize in front of her.
“Whoa, lemme get that!” The friendly baritone belongs to a short but devastatingly handsome man. He takes the bucket and flashes her a brilliant smile.
“Th-thanks. I lost my grip . . .” She trails off, grateful for his help but embarrassed by her carelessness in front of the other parents.
“Eh, no problem. Happens to the best of us. My name’s Gabe.” He cocks his head and lifts the bucket in greeting as she introduces herself. Though he’s dressed in a nondescript button-down and navy flat-front slacks, he’s distinctly unlike the Mount Pleasant Tesla dads. Broad shoulders flow into a compact waist, flanked by solid, well-muscled limbs. Thick, dark stubble hugs his jawline. Annie surprises herself, imagining the coarse hair rubbing against her fingertips, her lips.
But before she can fully process the thought, a little girl jumps out from behind the man’s legs. Her hair is a tangle of fiery, carrot-colored curls. Her lips are circled in red, no doubt from the Popsicle that drips in her hand. She resembles a baby Pennywise.
“No! I wanna go there!” she screams, jabbing a sticky finger impatiently at the pony rides.
“We’re going to help out this nice lady first.” He speaks with a quiet command that even the brattiest child wouldn’t dare protest. Then he turns to Annie with an apologetic look and answers her unasked question. “Annabelle is my niece. My brother’s kid.”
They realize simultaneously that they are still just standing there taking each other in, saying nothing. It only takes a few seconds for the silence to become unseemly, and both rush to speak at once.
“Where can I—”
“Thanks—I’m right over there at the art booth,” she says, pointing to the far end of the field. “I’m Annie. Annie Shaw.”
Seeing them approach together, Danielle raises a mischievous eyebrow.
Gabe sets the water gallons down on the grass. He’s rolled up his sleeves and his bare forearm brushes hers. It’s unseasonably warm, and his cologne mingles with sweat. Annie remembers reading that when you smell something, it contains actual molecules from whatever it is you’re smelling. At the time, her mind had gone straight to public bathrooms. Today, the thought sends a current of electricity rippling through her body.
“Are you a teacher here?” he asks, glancing at her left hand.
There’s no wedding ring—well, there is, but it doesn’t look like one. It’s just a regular piece of costume jewelry that Duncan bought for Annie at a Hong Kong night market. Really rich people found those kinds of not-spending-money gestures romantic.
Before Annie can correct him, a couple in hemp shirts, shorts, and matching neoprene toe shoes approaches the booth, shepherding their daughter toward the table. “Arrow, would you like to color a puppy or a fire truck?” The child points to a princess picture instead. The parents grimace, barely managing to hide their disappointment.
In a low voice, Gabe says, “To be honest, I don’t know how people have kids. Or how kids have parents. Well, I physically get that part. But I’m pushing forty and still a bachelor, much to my mother’s chagrin.”
Annie grins. “You get used to them, and you don’t have to like them. That goes both ways, for the parents and the kids.” She immediately regrets her response, stealing a glance at him to see if he’s offended, and is relieved by his bemused expression.
“That’s a refreshing response coming from someone in your profession, but look, I get it. My mom was a teacher and so’s my sister back home in Queens, so yeah, I totally get it.”
Annabelle runs over with her freshly painted caterpillar and shoves it against his white shirt. “Hold this, Uncle Gabe. I need to go potty.”
“Nice,” he groans. “Okay, let’s go for the fifth time.”
Annie hands him a paper towel for his shirt, and when he grabs it his hand brushes against hers. “Let’s get a drink if you ever want to talk more about teaching, not liking kids, or, uh, getting rid of paint stains,” he says, looking down ruefully at his shirt.
“I’d like that.” Annie hears the words but doesn’t quite believe she’s the one saying them. She’s never been—or seriously considered being—with anyone besides her husband. But in that moment, she sees herself through the eyes of this stranger and likes what she sees. An image of perfection that can be derived only from newness and unfamiliarity, in the fleeting moments before flaws and anxieties reveal themselves.
Looking directly into Annie’s eyes with an intensity that makes her heart race, Gabe slips his business card into her hand. Then he scoops up the child, who has begun to wiggle suspiciously, and dashes toward the port-o-potties.
Annie sneaks a glance at the card in her hand. Gabriel Correa, CPA.
“What in holy heck was that?” Danielle asks the second there’s a lull at the booth. She hooks her slender arm into Annie’s and leans in close to talk. “I thought you guys were gonna clear the table and go at it right here. We’re doing arts and crafts, not chemistry, sweetie!”
“Shhhh! Was it that obvious? I just met him outside the art studio. It was nothing.”
“Whatever. He was definitely hot for teacher,” Danielle whispers in an exaggerated breathy voice that makes them both laugh.
Annie sobers suddenly, seeing Ray step out from the shadow of a nearby refreshment stand. He’d been watching them all this time. Annie clocks the irritation on his face and realizes he might suspect her of telling Danielle what she saw in the art room.
Her cheeks flush red and hot. She turns away, crumpling the business card in her hand before jamming it into her pocket. Ray hates her now—and he’s seen her flirting with Gabe.
HOTEL
Annie recoils as though she touched a hot cast-iron pan rather than cold, lifeless flesh. She swallows, trying to force back the tide of sour acid rising in her throat. The world looks like she’s viewing it from underwater, sunlight refracting against the surface. Jagged shards of light pierce her eyes.
Don’t call out. Don’t say a word. They could still be here. Who? She’s doesn’t hear anyone else in the room, but how can she be sure there isn’t someone behind her? The back of her neck tingles.
She tries to shift her lower body, but nothing happens—it’s as though the line from her brain to her leg muscles has been severed. A bitter taste lingers on the back of her tongue. Did you black out?
Sharp pain pulsates behind her eye sockets. She squeezes her eyelids shut, trying to force order onto her thoughts.
Disturbing images flash into her mind. Jumbled snippets. Ray Park’s sneering face inches from her own. The blade stained with rust and blood. A long tongue, not human, dangling like a strip of red meat. No, no, no!
* * *
CHAPTER 13
The morning after the spring festival, Annie wakes at dawn, having just fallen asleep an hour earlier. She spent the night staring at the ceiling worrying about Ray Park. She told herself that because she hadn’t actually done anything with the handsome stranger, Ray had no leverage over her. But in the same way Danielle had seen through her and sensed the chemistry with Gabe, maybe Ray had detected her betrayal too. Though Annie strayed in thought only, it felt almost as wrong as physical betrayal. How she wished she’d never gone to the spring festival! Then she’d never have met Gabe, and she wouldn’t have witnessed anything untoward with Ray or Tabby.
If only Annie could erase the image of the pimply-faced boy stroking her daughter’s bottom. It might as well have been yesterday that Annie had to apply diaper cream to an angry red rash there, given the way time seemed to fold over on itself lately. She casts a jealous glance at Duncan, snoring loudly beside her. He’d come home late last night from his panel in Georgetown, too exhausted to talk with Annie about Tabby.
