She Lies Alone: An utterly compelling psychological suspense novel, page 17
Two hours later, Amy trekked across the parking lot, enjoying the warmth of the early October sun against her cheeks. The final school bell had rung thirty minutes earlier, but she’d stayed late to finish her assigned duties. It hadn’t taken long to review Elena’s numbers. They were straightforward and neatly organized, but they would never work. The money simply wasn’t there. Amy had said as much to Lydia before tucking the papers into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet for safekeeping. Then she’d continued the mindless task of finalizing the student address book, finding it more time-consuming than expected to verify all the information. Three rows ahead, her minivan sparkled in the sun. Most of the cars had cleared from the lot, but a few remained. She turned to the right, taking a shortcut between a red SUV and a silver Camry.
Movement in the Camry caused her to stop short, a memory needling through her. The car was similar to the one that had dropped off Phoebe and sped away from her house. Rowan’s car. Two silhouettes bobbed and tilted through the window, dread rising in Amy’s gut. She stepped closer, leaning forward to get a better view.
Rowan’s arms encircled Phoebe, her thick coat removed. They pressed their faces together, their lips locked.
Amy held her hand to her mouth, feeling like she might throw up. Her feet backpedaled. She fought the urge to knock on the window, pull Phoebe from the car, and break them up, but her instinct told her to run. She bolted to her car and threw herself inside, struggling to catch her breath as she slammed her foot against the accelerator and sped home.
Amy slowed down as she turned onto her street, letting her minivan glide to a halt at the bottom of the driveway. She inhaled through her mouth and exhaled through her nose, her spine finding support from the seat behind her. This was only a phase. Phoebe was sixteen years old. Of course, she had kissed other boys, including her ex-boyfriend, Ethan, and that football player, Brandon. The only difference was that Amy hadn’t walked in on her before. She could hardly expect those other boys to want to make out with her daughter now that she looked like the child of death.
Amy closed her eyes and recited her mantra five times. Be grateful. Good things will come your way. The mailbox loomed like a trap in front of her. She inched up next to it and lowered her window, trying to vanquish the embarrassing scene from the other night from her mind. Perhaps Amy had been quick to jump to conclusions about the source of the hurtful notes, but Nicolette could also be so judgmental.
She opened the box and peered inside, two items fluttering in the wind. Her fingers pinched them, pulling them toward her. The first was the cable bill, which Amy tossed into her purse. The second piece of mail was a blank envelope, its crisp edges shaking in her hand. It had been over two weeks with no notes, and she thought they were finally beyond this nonsense. She bit her lip as she ripped it open, anger surging through her.
SELFISH BITCH!
The words screamed out in the same printed handwriting, the same red ink, the same bubble dot at the end of the exclamation mark. Amy folded the paper in half, wondering what Phoebe had done to make her former friends so vengeful. Whatever it was, they weren’t ready to let it go.
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen other than Amy’s breathing. The screen of her laptop glowed from the granite counter, cutting through the midnight shadows. She perched on the stool where Ben normally sat in the morning, crunching and slurping his cereal. Squinting her eyes and leaning forward, she opened a new email from Green Hills Nursing Home: The current balance for Elizabeth Heavner is $0.
Amy tipped her head back, thankful her payment had gone through. She was due some good news.
The kids were upstairs, asleep. When Phoebe had clobbered through the door after 4 p.m., Amy had played dumb, deciding not to mention the scene she’d witnessed in Rowan’s car. Nothing good could come from another argument. And, of course, she wouldn’t show Phoebe the awful note she’d found in the mailbox. She’d already hidden it at the bottom of her jewelry box along with the others.
The phone lay beside the laptop, beeping with an Instagram notification. Amy lifted it, curiosity getting the better of her. Her feed opened directly to Valerie’s post, which pictured a sleek, modern mini-mansion sprawling between flowering cacti. Dramatic ruby-red mountains rose in the background, and a turquoise pool glistened beside the house, surrounded by a built-in outdoor kitchen and a row of expensive-looking lounge chairs.
Surprise! Check out our new house! #impulsebuy #happilyeverafter #dreamhome #desertlife
Amy swallowed, wondering how Valerie could afford such luxury while devoting so much time to training for marathons. Her boyfriend must have gotten an even bigger promotion than she’d realized. Envy yanked at Amy’s gut, daring her to ignore the post, to not click on the red heart that Valerie so wanted her to click.
She massaged her temples, struggling not to let her jealousy take over. As condescending as Valerie’s statement had sounded at the time, she’d been right about success being a decision. Ever since Amy had made a conscious decision to succeed, she’d noticed a change. Good things were happening in her job. Lydia had even expressed to her that she was doing good work. She’d paid off the balance of her mother’s nursing home bill. She’d worked out four times this week, running a total of over twenty-two miles. She’d completed her first blanket to give to the immigrants. And this was just the beginning.
Amy resisted her negative tendencies and wrote a note in the comments. Congrats! Looks beautiful! She debated whether to call Valerie to hear the story behind how the impulse buy had come about. It would only be 9 p.m. in Arizona. She pushed Valerie’s number. She would have to keep up the lie about Phoebe’s championship run on the varsity tennis team, but that would be easy enough.
The phone rang four times, then went to voicemail.
Nineteen
Jane
The big day was finally here, Friday, October 20. Our in-home interview with Mia Huang-Jeffries was only minutes away. I misted the air freshener through the entryway. Not too much. Just a spritz of cinnamon and vanilla to give our foyer a homey vibe. First impressions were key. Craig’s jacket hung crookedly from a hook on the wall. I moved it to the front closet, arranging the hangers in an even row.
“Hon, relax.” Craig watched me from the kitchen, the floor gleaming under his leather shoes. “She’s not going to care if we left a coat on a hook.”
“She’ll be here any second. Everything has to look perfect.” I crouched down, slipping the air freshener behind a box in the corner of the closet, my new metal bracelet clanging against my wrist. Straightening myself up, I smoothed down my skirt, the sheer fabric feeling strange against my thighs. My legs balanced over the strappy sandals Elena had assured me looked good with the outfit.
“Everything looks great. You look great.” He stepped next to me and kissed my cheek. “Let’s sit down until she gets here.”
My weight leaned into him, exhaustion beating out my nerves. I’d been organizing, cleaning, testing paint colors, and rehearsing answers in my head for two solid days. The ring of our doorbell cut through our momentary lull.
My muscles tensed at the sudden noise, my heartbeat racing. “She’s here.”
He nodded, giving my arms a quick squeeze. “We got this.”
I rolled my shoulders back and inhaled, opening the door. A petite woman with cropped black hair and bright red lipstick smiled up at me from the top step. She wore a navy pantsuit; a worn briefcase hung from her hand.
“Hello, I’m Mia Huang-Jeffries.”
I extended my hand. “Hi, Mia. I’m Jane.” I motioned behind me. “And this is my husband, Craig.”
Craig stepped forward and shook Mia’s hand, a jittery smile dancing across his face. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.” He stepped aside to make way for her to enter our cinnamon-scented foyer.
There was something childlike about Mia’s large coffee-colored eyes as they bounced around the room, stealing peeks into the kitchen and living room. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” I said casually, pretending our house was always this clean and organized. I ushered her into the living room, where a bouquet of sunflowers basked in a vase on the table. I’d picked them up from the farmers’ market twenty-four hours earlier.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“About five years,” I said. “It’s been a good house for us. We have an extra bedroom. I think I mentioned that on the phone.”
“Yes. That’s good.”
“We can give you the full tour,” Craig said. “Would you like to do that first, or at the end?”
“How about we chat for a few minutes first. Then you can show me around.”
He motioned toward the living room furniture. “Please sit down.”
Mia strolled across the room and lowered herself into the love seat by the window, removing a folder from her bag.
“Would you like something to drink?” I hovered near her with my hands clasped in front of me. “Coffee or tea?” I added, making sure she didn’t think I was offering her alcohol.
“Oh, no.” She smiled, probably amused by the ridiculous effort we were exerting to try to impress her. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
Craig and I shuffled around the coffee table, settling in next to one another on the couch.
“So, it looks like we already did our phone interview several weeks ago.” Mia peered up from her notes as Craig and I nodded. “Let’s talk more specifically today. For example, are you open to either a boy or a girl? And are you willing to take on a child with either a minor or a major disability or physical deformity?”
“Yes.” The word jumped from my mouth more forcefully than I’d planned. “We’re open to either a boy or a girl.”
“Do you have a preference? I mean, assuming you had a choice?”
My eyes found Craig’s. We’d approached the topic while lying in bed, both of us poking around the edges, afraid to say one way or another for fear of jinxing the whole thing altogether. Craig gave a slight nod, a lowering of his eyelids, encouraging me to speak my feelings.
I unlaced my fingers and leaned forward. “I guess I envisioned a girl. I don’t know why. I’d be happy with either a girl or a boy though.”
Mia nodded, her face free of judgment. “And you, Craig?”
Craig shifted his weight and began to say something.
Three sharp knocks cracked against our front door. Craig’s mouth hung open. I looked at him, confused. Mia’s eyes darted toward the noise then back toward us. More pounding echoed from the foyer. It was louder.
“Answer the door!” An angry male voice yelled from outside.
A chill traveled through me, a warning not to engage with the uninvited visitor. I would have called the police if I’d been alone.
Craig stood up, facing Mia. “I’m sorry. I have no idea who this is.”
I shook my head at Mia. “I don’t either.”
Craig and I locked eyes, both of us equally clueless. I followed a step behind him. He hesitated before turning the lock and cracking the door open.
The worst-case scenario loomed on our front steps. Rowan stood with fists clenched, the corner of his lip curled back against his sallow face.
My blood vaporized like dry ice, dread cycling through my veins. I didn’t realize he knew where I lived.
From beneath his ragged hair, his dagger eyes bypassed Craig and pierced directly into me. “You bitch!” He reached down, his hand hidden from view.
My heart leaped as I imagined a weapon waiting under the trench coat. I held my palms up, forcing my voice out of my throat, and steadying my weight over my wobbly shoes. “Rowan. What are you doing here?”
He stabbed his index finger toward me. “Why did you report us? We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rowan’s lips twitched. “Ms. Mayfield has to take a leave of absence because of you! She might get fired.”
My feet stumbled backward, trying to make sense of his words. I’d seen Elena teaching her classes earlier in the day. “Leave of absence? Why?”
“You reported us. At the coffee shop last Saturday!” Spittle sprayed from Rowan’s mouth as he screamed.
“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Liar!” Rowan swiped the back of his hand across his cheek. He was crying.
“It wasn’t me, Rowan.” I softened my voice. “Someone else probably saw you two together.” Phoebe’s jealous stare flashed in my mind.
Craig squared his shoulders at Rowan, pulling his phone from his pocket. “You need to leave right now, or I’m calling 911.”
Rowan scowled. “Fuck you! Ms. Mayfield was helping me.” He turned and retreated toward the street, shoulders slumped forward, striding toward his beat-up car.
I exhaled, relieved by the growing distance between us, but my insides bubbled with Rowan’s accusation.
A throat cleared behind me. I whipped myself around. Mia’s form appeared just beyond the foyer. Her eyes had congealed, losing their childlike wonder, and she knotted her lips in disapproval.
“I’m sorry.” I tucked a section of hair behind my ear, sweat gathering in my armpits. “As you know, I’m a teacher at the high school. That was a student. He’s… troubled.”
Mia crossed her arms. “Does this happen often?”
“No. It never happens.” Except it had, and at the worst possible time. My eyes couldn’t hold Mia’s gaze. I stared at the floor tiles.
Craig’s face had lost all color. He swallowed and rubbed his palms together the way he did when he was stressed and struggling to maintain his composure. He strode back into the living room. “Hopefully, we can put that behind us and get back to our conversation.”
Mia turned, her movements stiff as she resumed her position on the love seat and scribbled something in her folder. She recited the next question on her interview sheet. I perched silent and motionless, letting Craig answer for both of us because I hadn’t heard any of her actual words. My fingers gripped around my metal bracelet, pulling against it and letting the edge dig into my bone. The vision of the baby I’d imagined weighing in my arms, the one who’d smell like baby powder and apple sauce, the one who’d bat at the plush starfish and octopus hanging from the under-the-sea play mat, the one who’d say “Mama” and giggle at Moose and sleep in the light blue nursery, disintegrated before my eyes—a sugar cube dissolving in a solution of acid. Mia’s manner had changed, her voice clipped and formal. Thanks to Rowan and Elena, the damage had been done.
The morning show host told a joke that wasn’t funny. Everyone in the audience laughed. I lifted the remote and powered off the TV. Kill your television. My lips pressed together in a fleeting moment of satisfaction. I’d had that bumper sticker on the back of my VW when I’d been in college. I pulled my flannel robe tighter around my waist, defeated. Moose lay opposite me on the couch, resting his giant head on my thigh. My cup of tea sat half-empty on the table, but I didn’t have the strength to sip it. It was probably cold by now, anyway. My head sunk back into the pillow, eyelids swollen and heavy.
Luckily, it was the weekend, so I didn’t need to waste one of my sick days. I’d gotten less than two hours of sleep the night before, the disastrous visit from Mia Huang-Jeffries replaying in a loop in my mind. She’d been stoic as we answered her final questions and toured her through our perfectly organized house. After Rowan’s intrusion, nothing we said or did could impress her. Not even the stupid play mat. The four sample shades of light blue I’d painted in a patchwork pattern across the wall of the nursery suddenly appeared messy and unfinished, instead of the deliberate work-in-progress I’d envisioned. She’d been in our house for less than thirty minutes. She left with a fake smile and a couple of benign niceties, but no promises of approval. Not even a hint of a promise.
As soon as the door clicked closed, I’d slunk to the floor and burst into tears. Craig slumped down next to me, his lanky arm looped around me, holding me together. We’d ruined our chances of adopting a baby through that agency. We both knew it.
Rowan had been totally out of line showing up at our house, his timing horrendous, and his accusations unfounded. But I kept my rage contained. He was only a kid—a kid whose mother had died when he was young. I’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d been hurting, too. Whatever Elena had been helping him with seemed like it had been important.
Elena was more to blame than Rowan. If only she hadn’t been so reckless. I’d warned her against meeting with Rowan outside of class, but she didn’t care. She acted like the rules didn’t apply to her.
My phone rested in my palm. If Rowan’s news about the forced leave of absence was true, Elena would be rattled today, too. It was time to give her a friendly smackdown. My fingers typed: You home? I heard about your suspension.
I sent it to Elena. A few seconds later, little bubbles appeared underneath: Yeah. I’m here. Long story.
I typed again, debating whether to send the next line, but Craig was gone on a painting job, so I continued: Mind if I come over? It’s important.
A few moments passed as I waited for her response. Moose shifted his weight, and I scratched him behind the ears. Finally, a message appeared: Sure. I’m in the Twin Pines Apartments. 58876 Blueline Ave, Unit 3B
The street didn’t sound familiar, but I typed my response: OK. Be there in an hour.
She sent me back a thumbs-up emoji.
I heaved myself off the couch. A shower was in order.
An hour later, I pulled into the parking lot at 58876 Blueline Avenue, my tires crunching over wide cracks that meandered through the cement like dried-up rivers. I swerved sharply to the left to avoid a treacherous pothole, then pulled into an open space near the drooping awning at the front entrance. My breath caught in my lungs at the sad state of the building. A wooden sign reading Twin Pines Apartments hung against the cheap blue siding, confirming I was in the right place. The white lettering had faded to a muddy shade of gray. My eyes searched for two matching pine trees anywhere on the premises, but there were no trees at all, only a row of dumpsters overflowing with garbage bags and cardboard boxes. A seagull perched on the edge of the dumpster with a French fry dangling from its beak. I’d lived in worse places, but my gut still sunk for Elena. She was better than this.
