Watch Out for Her, page 12
I point to the flyer with a photo of a smiling blue-haired woman. “That’s the woman with the dog, right? She introduced herself yesterday.”
Tara pours me a generous glass of rosé. “Yes, Emily. She’s lovely. She told me she’s lived in Blossom Court for a while.” She smiles. “We might hire her. She tutors a lot of kids in the neighborhood. Cody struggles with reading.”
“Jacob has trouble with math,” I reply, and bring the glass to my lips. My first sip is glorious. It warms my chest and relaxes me, as does the late-afternoon sunshine flowing in through the wide kitchen windows, from where I can see Jacob and Cody laughing and jumping wildly. I’ve been so frantic I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the simple pleasure of a glass of wine.
“Maybe Jacob will catch on faster this year,” Daniel says, taking a deep swallow of his beer.
“And you’ll have time to help him with his homework now that you’re working fewer hours.” I smile to show I’m not being passive-aggressive, but his eyes cloud with uncertainty.
Tara tracks our every move. “Are you okay eating outside tonight?” she asks, cocking her sharp chin at the backyard. “I can barbecue, and we can watch the kids and chat. It’s supposed to get chilly in an hour or so, but there’s a firepit on the patio.”
Daniel perks up. “I’m happy to help with the barbecue,” he says. “I’m a damn good griller, if I do say so myself.”
This is true. I did all the oven and stove-top cooking, the bake sale cupcakes, and even Jacob’s birthday cakes until he was five, but I don’t know how to barbecue. The propane, lighter, flames shooting out of the grill—all of it makes me nervous.
“That would be wonderful!” Tara glances at the clock on the stove. “Is it too early to start grilling?”
Daniel’s stomach grumbles. He laughs. “I didn’t eat lunch, so anytime is good for me.”
Tara laughs, too, opens the fridge, and hands him a plate of thick rib eyes and four hamburger patties. “Since it’s just me at the moment, you can be the grill master.”
I’m hoping she’ll reveal more about why it’s just her, but she stops right there, turning around to close the fridge.
Daniel holds the plate. “Tongs?”
“Right.” Tara rummages in a drawer next to the farmhouse sink.
I glance outside at the boys so happy together, wrestling and bouncing with unbridled glee. “Jacob does have Ms. Martin as his teacher. I’m so glad the kids will be in the same class.” For once, the words that spill out of my mouth are true. I am happy that Jacob’s starting class tomorrow with a friend. What I’m not happy about is that his friend’s mother is Tara.
Tara nods while giving Daniel the tongs. “I know. And Valerie’s excited to meet Jacob. That’s Ms. Martin,” she explains. “I emailed her right after the boys played basketball today to ask if Jacob’s in Cody’s class.”
I stiffen. She was talking to my son’s teacher about my child, a teacher whom I’ve never met?
“How well do you know Valerie?” Daniel asks. And I’m grateful that he does.
Tara grabs cutlery from the drawer next to the stove. I notice she doesn’t keep silverware in the island, where ours is, yet she “guessed” where to find it in our home.
“Me and Valerie? I chatted with her quite a bit at parents’ welcome night the first week of school. So sorry you missed it.” She smiles at us. “When she confirmed Jacob’s in her class, I asked if Cody and Jacob could sit at the same table. I think it would be nice for them. And to be honest, Cody doesn’t always have the easiest time making friends.”
I blink to give myself time to figure out the appropriate reaction. I don’t like her commandeering Jacob’s seating plan and stepping on my toes. I’m annoyed and disturbed, but I look to Daniel to gauge his reaction, because I don’t trust my own.
He nods placidly. Clearly, he’s unaware that this woman is trespassing on my turf. Still, I won’t overreact. Not yet.
“That’s kind of you,” I say with a forced smile. “I’m looking forward to talking to Ms. Martin myself.” Yes, that’s the right response.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” She reaches for a phone on the counter and aims it at the backyard. “Smile for the camera!” she calls through the open window.
Both boys duck out of view, giggling.
“You can’t hide from me! I see you!” Tara singsongs.
My wineglass slips from my hand and shatters on the kitchen tiles.
“I’m so sorry.” I bend down to start picking up the pieces. “Shit,” I say as a sharp piece of glass slices my skin. A bloom of blood appears on my finger.
“You okay, honey?” Daniel asks, but Tara’s faster.
She grabs my hand and inspects the wound. “Thank goodness. It’s not deep. Let me get you a Band-Aid.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just wash it off. May I use your bathroom?”
“Of course! It’s to the right of the front door.” She looks at the floor. “I’ll get a broom and sweep this up in a heartbeat.” She walks over to a closet off the kitchen.
Daniel examines my finger, too. “Sure you’re okay?”
Do I hear judgment? Or is it concern? “I’m fine. Just clumsy.” I shrug.
“Accidents happen,” he says.
They do, of course, but my gut churns with the worry he’s dismissed all of the strange things that have happened since we’ve arrived as simple accidents and misfortunes. Whether it’s because he’s an analytical, not an emotional thinker, or because he’s afraid, I don’t know. To him, the cameras, Mr. Blinkers’s sudden appearance, someone lurking in our backyard, are unconnected events. And the fact that Tara just said, “I see you!” to the boys, well, he’d think nothing of it. I know better.
“I’m going to head to the yard and heat up the barbecue.” He grins. “And maybe leap around with the boys on the trampoline.”
Tara laughs. “Their energy is contagious. I’ll come out, too.” She looks at me. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” I say. “Surface cut. Nothing to worry about.”
She nods and slides the door open, lets Daniel go out with the plate first, then grabs his beer for him, closing the door behind them both.
Holding my throbbing finger, I wait for them to be distracted before I pretend I’m walking to the powder room. A quick peek over my shoulder and when I see they’re not watching me, I dart up the stairs.
Her second floor is entirely pink—pink paint with a fluffy rose-colored chair and an ottoman at the top of the stairs. The bathroom between two other rooms with their doors closed is also done in a pale blush, save for the white toilet and bath. Even the candles and a jar of sea glass are pink. I remember the sea glass Jacob collected a few years ago on a weekend trip to Victoria with Daniel and me. There’s no sea glass in Toronto because Lake Ontario is fresh water, not salt. I’m hit with a pang for the tangy air of home.
I don’t have time to think any further on the weird design choice. I have to find her bedroom fast. If she’s just pushy and overbearing, maybe we can be friends—or at least friendly. I’ll point my conjecture elsewhere if that’s the case. But first, I have to know who she really is.
I turn the silver knob on the door to the right of the bathroom. It’s a boy’s dream room. I quickly take in the race-car-shaped bed and superhero decals on the white walls and shut the door. I move to the last room on this floor and turn the knob as silently as possible. It smells of a light floral perfume, and it’s as neat as a pin. There are no photos of Cody’s father, or Tara with anyone, just a pastel print of a waterfall on the wall above her bed.
I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but that’s never stopped me before. A camera feed into my house? Proof she was in my backyard? Family photos? A connection to Holly? My pulse races as I slide open the drawers of the tall white dresser across from her bed to find Marie Kondo rolled T-shirts, socks, bras, and underwear. I check under her bed and in her walk-in closet for a hoodie that resembles the one our backyard prowler wore. Nothing. Time is running out.
I spin to leave her room. I zero in on the white-gold jewelry tree where five necklaces hang on delicate branches. I feel a jolt in my stomach.
My eyes are drawn to one necklace in particular, a rose-gold chain with a ring pendant. It’s stunning, but that’s not why I can’t look away. It’s the clasp, stamped with a tiny swirly logo that I instantly recognize—a snowflake, and just above it is the name of the one-of-a-kind jewelry boutique on Granville Street where Holly’s yin necklace came from: Unique.
CHAPTER TWELVE HOLLY
Before
Holly opens her eyes, and at first, she isn’t sure whose bed she’s in. It’s a cream-colored upholstered queen, draped with a blue-and-white polka-dot duvet. Then last night floods back. Alexis seeing her with Charlie Lang in the parking lot. Lisette’s bracelet on the coffee table. Her father’s fury and disappointment. Jumping on her bike, duffel bag on her back, a thin sheen of sweat on her skin as she pumped her legs as hard as she could in the pitch-black night toward the Goldmans’ and away from the only home she has ever known.
She curls into a ball under the covers, feeling a complicated mix of pain and relief. It’s the first time in her life that her future isn’t mapped out for her. She’s free, but with that freedom comes the exhilarating and also frightening possibility of choice. What comes next? No matter what, everything will be okay. She has a place to stay, people who’ve let her in, who value her for who she is.
When she arrived at the Goldmans’ last night, it was after 2:00 a.m. She stopped right before she turned onto Cliffside Road, breathing hard from the frantic cycle and nervousness. There, alone in the dark and quiet, trees towering over her, it occurred to her: What was she thinking coming here? Had she made a huge mistake? What if she rang the bell, woke the whole family up, and then, after spilling all her news, Sarah wouldn’t let her stay? What if Sarah abandoned her the way everyone seemed to, even her own father and stepmother?
She contemplated calling Alexis, going to her place for the night, but it wasn’t her stepsister’s comfort she wanted.
She got back on her bike and, under a blanket of stars, rode the last leg to the Goldmans’. Leaving her bike next to the basketball net on the driveway, she looked up at the house, which was dark, of course. Holly didn’t want to scare anyone by using her key and walking inside.
She unlatched the back gate and almost jumped out of her skin when she realized she wasn’t alone. The lights around the pool cast just enough of a glow to reveal that Sarah was in her backyard. She had her camera in her hands and was taking pictures on the embankment outside the pool deck. The night was clear and cloudless, and Sarah pointed the lens at the last quarter moon suspended in the black sky above the river. She looked so small in the dense clump of imposing trees.
“Sarah,” Holly said softly. The cliff was steep, and the last thing she wanted was to startle her and send her plummeting over the edge into the river below.
Sarah gasped and whirled around. “What the hell!” she squeaked, her brow scrunched up, one hand on her heart, camera in the other.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sarah, in oversize cotton pajamas, held on to tree roots to walk up the embankment and onto the pool deck. “Holly, what on earth? It’s two in the morning. What are you doing here?”
Sarah’s face was pale, and her hands were shaking. Holly had scared the hell out of her. Now she somehow had to say something, to explain things not even she herself fully understood. How much of the truth could she tell Sarah? Not about the bracelet she stole, for sure, because Sarah wouldn’t accept a thief in her house, and definitely not about Charlie. The very thought of Sarah finding out about that filled her with shame. So, after Sarah invited her inside and made them both cups of chamomile tea, they sat together on the couch, where Holly gave her a semblance of the truth: that she finally admitted to her father and Lisette what she’s kept inside for so long—she doesn’t want to work at her father’s company anymore; she wants to make her own way, like Alexis. In exchange for her honesty, they’d kicked her out.
Sarah sat cross-legged facing her, cup of tea forgotten on the coffee table. “What do you mean they kicked you out? Just because you don’t want to go to med school?”
“Not only that. Health ProX is like my father’s firstborn child. It means everything to him. If I don’t graduate from med school and ultimately take over the family firm, I get cut off completely.”
“But that’s crazy. I don’t know your parents that well, but I can’t believe they would do that. I’m sure it will blow over in the morning.”
“No,” Holly choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t understand them, Sarah. They’re not like you. Lisette isn’t my birth mother. And my dad—well, he’s set in his ways. They don’t want me back unless I fit their mold. I’m not who they raised me to be.” Another sob broke free.
Sarah scooted closer to her and pulled Holly into her arms. “I don’t understand any parent who lets their child walk out the door in the middle of the night. But I do understand what it’s like when people don’t get who you really are.”
“You do?” Holly asked in a small voice.
“I do.”
Sarah’s face closed then, so Holly didn’t push. And she was so tired. All Holly asked was: “Can I stay here tonight?”
Sarah was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. “I’ll make up the guest room for you.” She stood and held out her hand. “Come. I’ll call your parents in the morning. Maybe I can help smooth things over.”
“No!” Holly realized how sharp she sounded. “Sorry, this is my problem, not yours. I appreciate the help, but you don’t have to make everything all right.” She sighed. “And who knows… maybe it’s for the best.”
“If that’s what you want. But if you change your mind, I’ll speak with them.”
What she wanted was the reassurance that she had a place to stay, not just for tonight but for the long term. But of course she couldn’t ask that. Not yet.
Now in the morning light the day after, Holly burrows under sheets that smell like sunshine and Sarah’s sweet scent of vanilla. She wraps herself in the softness, looking around her basement bedroom across from Sarah’s darkroom. A pine dresser sits opposite the window well, the only window in the small room, but the white walls make it seem bright and spacious.
On the wall next to the door hang five of Sarah’s gorgeous photos in a circle montage. The theme is motherhood, each frame holding a single object in focus: a baby bottle; small shoe; schedule of activities; laundry basket; a glass of wine.
Everything is perfect. Holly can’t stop smiling, even as a residual ache throbs in her chest.
She picks up her phone to find seven texts, all from Alexis. Five missed calls. Shit. She completely forgot to text her when she arrived last night, like she promised.
Alexis: Are you okay? Are you there?
Alexis: Holly, it’s four in the morning. Are you okay??
Alexis: Text me!!!
Every message after is increasingly frantic. Holly FaceTimes her stepsister immediately.
“Oh my God!” Alexis exclaims when she answers after the first ring. “I’ve been so worried about you! Why didn’t you text? Are you okay?”
Alexis looks terrible. Her hair is a bird’s nest of tangles, and she has black circles dug deep under her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I got here, talked to Sarah, then went right to sleep. It was such a brutal night.” Shame at everything Alexis witnessed last night floods over her. Holly bites her lip. Should she ask how things are at the house this morning? She can’t tell if Alexis is there or not because her face fills the whole screen, as usual.
“I was really worried something happened to you.” She lowers her voice. “Mom and John just left for the Whistler house until tomorrow, so I’ll be here on my own today if you want to come back and hang out. You could even stay overnight.”
Holly knows Alexis is purposely avoiding the obvious question—whether she’ll ever be allowed back. It doesn’t matter. Holly knows she won’t. Once their minds are set, no change is ever possible. Just another part of being a Monroe.
“Thanks. I don’t want to go back. But we could hike the trail later?” She glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s seven forty-five. “We can meet at the trailhead at two?”
Holly means the Capilano River park trail that leads deep into the forest to the canyon.
Alexis beams. “I’d love that. I’m doing some work for Professor Phillips this morning, but I’m free all day after that.”
Professor Phillips, a.k.a. Luke. Holly’s former professor, and then some. Holly’s ghosted him. She never got the courage to formally end things after they slept together several times. Instead, she’s simply ignored his texts about how Alexis is fitting in at the office. It’s pretty clear what he’s after, and she doesn’t feel like giving it to him anymore. Alexis still has no idea she was seeing Luke, and Holly resolves that she’ll never find out. It was all a big mistake anyhow—sleeping with her forty-year-old professor, like some kind of bad porn. It was exciting, though, for a while—illicit—screwing in his office in the first semester, sneaking him into her bedroom in the second.
Transference. That’s what Luke taught her in psychology class. Holly’s self-aware enough to name it, to know that her attraction to older men is about her father, but that doesn’t really change the feelings. Or make them go away.
But she doesn’t need that kind of thrill to soothe her soul anymore. She knows better now. She’s matured. Plus, now she has Sarah in her life, and she’d never want to disappoint her.
“I’ll text you before I leave,” Holly says to her sister. “And I love you.” She reaches to click off, but Alexis opens her mouth.
“Wait! How long are you planning on staying with the Goldmans?”
