She Lies Alone: An utterly compelling psychological suspense novel, page 8
“Was that Scott?”
Amy pinched her lips together and nodded. “He took the kids for the weekend.”
Nicolette’s hand rested on Amy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed against her dry throat. All previous resentment toward Nicolette for her daughter’s cruel behavior toward Phoebe vanished with the touch of the hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. This is all part of the arrangement. Every other weekend.”
Nicolette peered at her, mouth slightly open. “It’s good for them to see their dad, too.”
Amy nodded.
“I hope you can do something for yourself while you have some free time.” Nicolette removed her hand and rested it on her hip. “You’re always welcome to help me rake leaves.”
Amy forced a smile. “I’ve got plenty of yard work of my own.”
“We could probably just let our yards go back to nature.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while.” Amy smiled at her neighbor, remembering why she made a brilliant psychologist. Her eyes drifted toward the end of the driveway. It was the place where Phoebe waited for the bus every morning. The spot where Simone used to stand with her but didn’t anymore. Amy wanted to mention the rift between Phoebe and Simone, the claims Phoebe had made about the tennis matches, and the horrible note she’d found in the mailbox, but she didn’t want to accuse anyone without proof. She didn’t want to make things worse.
An unfamiliar minivan rumbled past.
“Have you met the new neighbors yet?” Amy asked.
“Yeah. I saw them out in the yard. A man and woman in their fifties, maybe.” Nicolette lowered her voice to a whisper. “They were spraying some kind of chemicals all over the lawn.”
Amy cringed. “Ugh. That’s horrible.”
“Don’t they know it all goes back into our water? Not to mention they’re killing all the bees.”
“Maybe it was the organic stuff.”
Nicolette raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully. Someone should warn them that lawn chemicals are grounds for jail time in this town.”
Amy pulled a face and giggled. “I’ll be sure to tell them.”
Nicolette stifled her grin. “I ran into them at the library, too.”
“Checking out books on natural lawn care?”
The two women bubbled with laughter.
Amy gasped, catching her breath. “We shouldn’t be so mean. I haven’t even met them.”
It felt good for Amy to reclaim a slice of her past companionship with her neighbor. Nicolette had become more distant over the last year. Or had it been Amy who’d pushed Nicolette away? She couldn’t be sure. Amy smoothed down her pants and leaned toward Nicolette. “Do you want to come over for a glass of wine later? I have cheese and crackers.”
Nicolette’s face fell. “Oh. Thank you, but I can’t tonight.”
“Big plans?”
“Not really. It’s a work thing. Amar and I are taking a new doctor and her husband out for dinner. Now that Amar is the head surgeon, he feels obligated to welcome every incoming doctor. It gets exhausting after a while.”
“I can imagine. Another time, then.”
She nodded. “Take care, Amy.”
“You too.”
The floorboard creaked as Amy wandered from the laundry room into the kitchen. It felt much later than 7:30 p.m. Darkness had already swallowed the house, each day shorter than the last, the endless daylight of summer becoming a faint memory. She’d been reckless to not have taken better advantage of the long, warm days, the backyard barbecues, and late afternoons reading by the pool. People had invited her to a variety of events, but she’d never been sure if they’d asked her out of friendship or pity. Excuses and lies rolled off her tongue easily. It felt safer to hide away, to slip inside herself, and to disappear. Once in a while, she forced herself to say yes, wearing her smile like a mask. She’d played in the women’s doubles league at the club for six weeks, the Wednesday-morning practices and Saturday matches pulling her into the world of the living. Still, the littlest thing could send her plummeting back into a depression. A complaint about the mess someone’s husband had left on the kitchen counter, or an invitation to join in the mixed-doubles tournament.
“Bring your husband!” Amy’s partner had proclaimed.
Amy had smiled and looked away, imagining Scott and Cece playing in another fictional mixed-doubles tournament on the other side of town. In the end, the careless comments had been too painful, so she’d stopped playing.
She’d made plenty of mistakes these last few months. She would have done things differently if she could have foreseen her current position, all alone on a Friday night, with smart, beautiful, formerly happy Phoebe off the tennis team and all out of friends. In recent weeks, the invitations for dinners and book clubs had scattered and disappeared like frightened birds. Her calendar was empty. Amy didn’t need a psychologist to tell her things had gone terribly wrong.
A gust of wind blew past, whistling through a gap in one of the kitchen windows, the branches of a nearby bush scraping against the glass like jagged fingernails. Amy shuddered as she pulled a block of Gruyère cheese from the refrigerator. Her fingers rummaged through the silverware drawer before landing on a cheese knife. The conversation she’d had with her knitting group about The Silver Slasher edged its way into her thoughts. She gripped the knife a little tighter.
She sliced a few pieces of cheese and paired them with Club crackers and a glass of wine. Her sad dinner arranged on a plate, she carried it to the living room and flipped on the TV, welcoming the background noise. Knitting needles poked upward from the basket at the side of the couch, and she decided to practice the new stitch she’d learned. The sooner she finished Phoebe’s hat, the sooner she could start knitting one for Simone, and then the blankets for immigrants.
First, she crunched through a cracker and swallowed the dry mouthful. Ignoring the poorly acted crime drama playing out on TV, she scrolled through her Instagram feed, smiling at an image of a baby panda and another of a decadent slice of quiche Lorraine from a brunch place where she’d eaten once in San Francisco.
Valerie, her best friend from childhood, had posted a photo of herself at the top of Camelback Mountain, hot-pink sneakers matching her hot-pink tank top, and her fist raised in triumph. First day of training for my next marathon! #amtraining #runninglife
Valerie had survived a divorce, too, at least three years earlier and with twin girls in first grade. Back then, Amy had occasionally reached out to her friend, the conversations dragging on forever, and circling from laughter to tears and back to laughter again. She’d meant to keep calling and checking in but had gotten distracted by her own life. Her calls had morphed into texts. The texts soon replaced with red hearts on Valerie’s Instagram feed. Valerie lived in Arizona. So far away. It wasn’t as if Amy could just pop over with a bowl of soup or a bottle of wine. And her friend had rebounded so quickly, diving into a new relationship and transforming herself into a health and exercise guru.
Amy had only recently told Valerie about her divorce when she’d called her out of the blue and blurted it out, feeling as if someone other than herself was reciting the horrible news. Valerie promised things would get better, that it would be an opportunity for Amy to reinvent herself. Amy had wanted to ask how long it would take to feel human again. Was it really as easy to bounce back as Valerie had portrayed on Instagram? Or would she have to endure a year or two of suffering first? But Valerie had been heading out the door to meet some friends, so they’d ended the call.
Focusing back on Instagram, Amy gave Valerie’s photo a like and considered taking a trip out to Arizona. Warm weather and a familiar face would be the perfect remedy in the dead of winter. She’d planned to visit her mother in the nursing home in Florida, but this would be better. Maybe she could do both.
As Amy scrolled down further into her Instagram feed, her eyelids squeezed shut, shielding against headlights beaming through the living room window. The lights disappeared as she popped up and positioned herself beside the curtains, peering at the car pulling out of the Janas’ driveway across the street. It wasn’t their sedan, but Simone’s red Jeep, driver’s side window rolled down and exposing a car full of laughing girls heading out to who-knew-where. Her chest collapsed for Phoebe. Only a year ago, Phoebe would have been inside that Jeep laughing along with her friends. Amy wasn’t sure if her moody daughter had shut them out, or if they’d excluded her. It was frustrating not to know where to direct her anger.
A few lights glowed from within the house across the street. Either they’d left the lights on for security or Nicolette was home. Amy smoothed back her hair, wondering if her neighbor had lied about her dinner plans to avoid coming over. She plodded back toward the couch, lifting the remote and turning off the TV. The steady tick of the clock lulled her into a trance as she hugged her arms across her chest. The emptiness of the house suffocated her. She sat down and shifted on the cushion, letting her weight sink into her back. Her eyelids lowered as she embraced the despair weighing down her limbs. How could a home that had once been so full of love and laughter be so desolate? Even the slice of cheese and broken cracker on her plate looked like it would rather be someplace else.
A sudden noise thumped from upstairs. Amy opened her eyes, shoulders tense. Perfectly still, she waited. Nothing. The old pipes made noises sometimes, or maybe it was a loose branch blown off a tree that hit the side of the house. She’d meant to call the tree trimmers last month but had never followed through. Her fingers curled around the wine glass, throwing the last gulp into her mouth. The clock continued ticking from the wall. It was still early. There was no reason for her to wallow in self-pity and sit home alone, paranoid about every creak and rattle that sounded through the old house.
The knitting needles and unfinished hat poked toward her from the floor. Phoebe’s birthday was in less than two months, and Amy hadn’t gotten her anything yet. She could head to the mall and do some shopping before it closed at 9 p.m. Maybe some new clothes or a fresh palette of makeup were just what Phoebe needed to break her out of this dreadful teenage phase. Amy inhaled, her plan igniting a glimmer of hope. She pulled her purse from the counter, applied a fresh coat of lipstick, and headed out the back door.
At 8:55 p.m., Amy locked her shopping bags in the trunk and backed out of the parking space. She’d purchased a few new blouses and pairs of pants for herself, plus some jewelry. For Phoebe, she’d picked up a Sephora gift card, a pair of ankle boots, a puffy coat, and a couple of sweaters for the upcoming winter. It was more than she’d planned on spending for Phoebe’s birthday, but these were desperate times. She wasn’t about to let Scott and Cece outdo her. Amy’s car drifted toward the edge of the parking lot. The thought of the cavernous house awaiting her warned her away, the eerie noises echoing through her head, and a gulp of emotion forming in her throat. With a sudden jerk, she veered from the highway exit she’d been about to take, and instead angled east on surface streets.
She didn’t let herself think about where she was headed. She drove randomly, passing the big-box stores like Target and Costco. There were fewer trees and parks in this part of town. Strip malls housed dollar stores and chain restaurants next to shoddy apartment complexes.
The miles passed slowly as she headed north and west toward campus. A few traffic lights later, the gridlock on Main Street had trapped her in its web. She’d forgotten about tomorrow’s football game. The population nearly doubled every home game, putting the city’s infrastructure to the test. The restaurants and bars on either side of the street were lit up and hopping. Large groups of people bustled along the sidewalks wearing school colors in anticipation of the big rivalry. Some college students stumbled along the sidewalk, shouting and laughing. A guy slung his arm around a woman and kissed her on the cheek. Another guy pretended to push his friend into the road.
Amy forgot to breathe, her eyes transfixed on the happy people. She would give anything to feel that carefree again. She realized she was staring and adjusted her hands on the steering wheel as her chest caved.
Ten minutes and two blocks later, her car crept next to Scott’s condo building, a towering brick monstrosity with balconies overlooking the main drag. She’d never been inside, but she knew he’d purchased the penthouse unit. She’d viewed the online photos more than once. After several rounds of questioning, poor Ben had all but told her that Cece had moved in.
As much as Amy tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help peering upward toward the warmly lit windows on the building’s top floor. She wondered what they were doing inside. Watching a movie? Eating carry-out? Scott didn’t cook, but maybe Cece did. She almost certainly did. Amy’s eyes remained glued as if watching herself in an alternate reality. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see. Herself in the window? Scott and Cece arguing? Phoebe looking just as unhappy as she’d been with her?
The car behind Amy laid on the horn. She jumped, noticing the empty gap that lay between her front bumper and the green light. The line of traffic ahead of her had already cleared the intersection.
“Sorry,” she said out of habit, her voice cracking. Her foot slammed against the accelerator, and she zoomed through just as the light turned yellow. She’d tortured herself enough for one night. She turned toward home.
Minutes later, Amy’s car coasted down the street, approaching her darkened house. A few windows glowed from across the street. Her beams reflected off her mailbox as she was about to turn into the driveway. She stopped the car, noticing the mailbox door was ajar.
A chill slid down her spine, a premonition of something sinister lurking ahead. She inched the car forward and lowered her window. The brisk night air surrounded her face. She tugged at the mailbox door, lowering it all the way. A white envelope lay inside the metal box. Her trembling fingers retrieved it and tore it open. She blinked as her eyes registered the harsh words scrawled in the same red marker as the previous note, the exclamation mark dotted with the same juvenile bubble as before.
LEAVE US ALONE OR YOU WILL PAY!
Nine
Jane
I crossed my arms in front of myself and leaned against the glass wall of the student cafeteria. Albright mandated that every teacher served on cafeteria lunch duty once a month. Today was my lucky day. The smell of French fries, ketchup, and pizza swirled around me, along with a flurry of starving students. My stomach rumbled, but I’d decided to wait until my free period to eat my lunch.
Ravi, one of my budding scientists, looked up from a nearby table and offered a half-wave. “Hey, Mrs. Bryson.” He sat across from Christopher, a shy kid with a bad case of acne who knew his elemental charts backward and forward.
I’d seen the boys just minutes earlier in my fourth-hour chemistry class. I gave them a nod and a smile. “Hi, guys.”
Students floated around the open space in the cafeteria like a sea of delocalized electrons. Giggles, talking, and crinkling lunch bags filled the room. Dawn and McKenzie exited the “Fresh Eats” line, carrying pre-made salads. They made a beeline for a booth in the corner where Simone sat. A few jocks, including my chemistry students, Austin and Liam, had claimed a table behind the girls.
McKenzie set down her salad and leered at something behind me. Then she leaned forward and whispered to her friends, setting off a wave of giggles. I swiveled around, my stomach sinking as my eyes landed on Phoebe and her new look. Her combat boots clunked across the room as she balanced a flimsy plate holding a slice of pizza in one hand and gripped a bottle of soda in the other. She plopped down in an empty seat across from Rowan.
My mind spiraled back to my previous class, the scene from fourth-hour chemistry sitting in my gut like undigested food. Phoebe had walked into my classroom a few seconds before the bell with a blank expression. She had swapped out her usual outfit of a pink T-shirt, leggings, and trendy sneakers with a black leather jacket over a T-shirt featuring a screaming skull, and baggy jeans. Bulky combat boots, only slightly smaller than the ones loosely tied to Rowan’s feet, had completed her look.
Rowan had leaned back, his features flat against his pasty skin as he studied her.
I’d done a double take at Phoebe’s unexpected transformation, but I’d hidden my shock and instructed everyone to find lab partners. Rowan and Phoebe had quickly paired up and read the instructions for the experiment, as McKenzie and Dawn shot more than one sidewise glance in Phoebe’s direction. During class, I’d made sure to keep everyone focused on their work and away from Phoebe’s clothes.
Now that we were in the Wild West of the school cafeteria, I couldn’t protect Phoebe from the leering eyes and nasty comments. The girls on the tennis team gawked openly toward her. I moseyed toward the table that Phoebe and Rowan had selected, partially hidden behind a cement pillar. I wondered if Phoebe had been getting fashion tips from Rowan. I wasn’t judging. I’d worn a similar look when I’d been in high school. My non-conformity had been insurance against anyone lumping me in with the preppy kids, the mindless masses. But my friends had been artsy hippie wannabes, not troubled misfits like Rowan.
When I reached Phoebe and Rowan, I paused. “I couldn’t help noticing you two coordinated outfits today.”
Phoebe’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering toward her uneaten pizza.
I shifted my feet. “I’m only teasing. You wear it well.”
Rowan lifted his chin toward his lunchmate. “It’s better than that stupid Ravenswood sweatshirt you used to wear.”
Phoebe raised her shoulders, a smile forming on one side of her mouth. She pulled at the end of her blonde ponytail.
Rowan tore open a bag of potato chips and raised it in the air. “You want one?”
“Sure,” Phoebe said, plucking a chip from the bag and crunching into it.
Rowan lifted the bag in my direction.
