Chapter 42

Laura

December

And so here I am. A traitor. An embezzler.

A murderer.

And I think back to that day, going into the grocery store for that milk.

I've had a lot of if only s in my life, but that if only is by far the most profound. Because if I hadn't gone into that grocery store for milk, maybe I wouldn't have met Theo. Maybe I wouldn't be in this mess now.

It all goes back to that fucking milk.

I've called in sick to work the whole first week of December, using my injured arm as an excuse. I know Jack probably wants to talk to me about the money I stole, and Pete's worried I'm angry about him drinking too much, but I can't face those problems right now.

Instead, I spend my days writing in this diary, filling the pages with my messy, slanting scribble. I've always kept a diary, ever since I was a girl and my dad left. It helped me process my feelings, just as it does now. As an adult, I've been inconsistent about it, but now I'm making up for it. I write every day. Sometimes a few times a day. Going back to that first day, the day Jack sent me to get milk and I met Theo, working through everything that's happened since.

Thank goodness it's my left arm that's injured, not my right arm.

And then, for the first time in months, I start painting. My emotions leak onto the canvas in broad, manic strokes, splattering the canvas in vicious reds and blacks. It's my own face that emerges from the brush, my loathing for these things I can't undo emerging like a ghost.

When I've finished, I carefully create a false back for the painting and fill it with the cash I've withdrawn, nearly emptying what's left of my account. I feel anxious and fearful, every movement, every decision deranged, like I'm not fully here, like I've been taken over by a robot.

Mel pops by every day. She's been so supportive, but what I really want is to be left alone. I have panic attacks. My stomach is in knots. I can't stop throwing up. I don't understand how she isn't falling apart, too. How she's so calm. It makes me angry and resentful.

When she's around, I break down, letting all my pent-up emotions out. Mel reassures me that everything will be fine. She tells me we should take pictures of the bruises on my body. She forces me to strip off my top, to stand while she captures what I've become, light streaming down on me from the skylights above.

She prints the pictures out and tells me to hide them. "They're a case for self-defense if you ever need it," she says.

"If I ever need it?"

"You won't , but it's good to have a backup. There's a reason why flight attendants tell you to put your mask on first, Laura. You have to look out for yourself first. That's what we're doing. Don't forget, Theo kidnapped us. It was self-defense."

"I should turn myself in." My teeth are chattering. How long is it possible to be in shock?

Something flashes in Mel's eyes. It takes me a minute to define it. Mel is a good person, compassionate, charitable, loyal to a fault, but the look I see in her eyes now is fear. It makes me feel even worse. Because Mel doesn't like being scared, doesn't like being backed into a corner. All her hard work to be healthy, eat organic food, meditate, do yoga, it's all to help her feel like she has some control in a world that can be very, very uncontrollable. But Theo's out of the picture now. He can't hurt us anymore.

And then I have a horrible thought.

"Theo's paycheck!" I bend over and start to howl, hot tears scalding my cheeks. "If he doesn't pick it up from the office, people will start looking for him."

"Shut the fuck up, Laura!" Mel snaps, glancing over her shoulder. "Do you want everyone to hear you?"

I'm momentarily silenced by the wild fury in her voice. The Melanie I know is calm, thoughtful. This Melanie is hostile, nasty.

I fight to calm myself. She's scared. Panicking. Like me. I need to pull myself together.

"You have to go into work," she says, calmer now. "Pick it up."

"I can't!" I moan.

"You can and you will," she says.

And for the first time, it sounds like a warning, not a suggestion.

I wait as long as I can. Another week and a half passes. It's almost Christmas, and I still haven't done any shopping. The girls will be out of school in a few days. Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, I'll rent a safe-deposit box and put this diary inside. I see the sense in what Mel says: it's good to have a backup.

The next morning, shortly after Mel leaves, Mrs. McCormack stops by holding a vibrant red orchid.

"Everything okay?" she asks, taking in my damp face.

"My arm ..." I give a weak laugh, but I'm sure she can see through the lie. "Do you want to come in?"

"No, thanks. I'm off to yoga. Just thought I'd drop this orchid by." She hands me the orchid, which is magnificent, its petals so red, so lush and moist, they appear like living flesh.

"Ruby mokara," she says. "Its red petals represent determination, courage, perseverance."

"It's stunning, thank you."

She looks at me steadily for a moment. "If you ever need anything, I'm here, okay?"

"I know."

"A word of advice, my dear. Don't be one of those people who goes through life with their eyes shut. Time can change relationships, just as the sea reshapes the sand."

I swallow back tears. Like the doctors and nurses, she thinks Pete hurt me. And I can't say anything to defend him.

"I won't," I say.

She gives me a gentle hug, as if I'm as delicate as the orchid I'm holding. The sound of the front door shutting echoes in her wake.

My first day back at the office is awkward as hell. Jack knows I stole money from him. So does Rose. I feel her eyes on me, glaring at me, but I still manage to sneak Theo's check from her desk when she's at lunch.

To my surprise, Jack isn't in. Not that day or the next. When he does appear, he doesn't talk to me. That goes on for a week. Finally, I can't bear it anymore, and I burst into his office. My brother is sitting behind his desk. Tall. Lean. Tanned, even in winter. His face darkens when he sees me.

"I'm sorry, Jack." I shut the door behind me. "I know you trusted me and I've betrayed that trust. I could explain all the reasons why, but all you need to know is that I'm going to fix this."

I've been planning this speech all week. Obviously I can't tell him about Theo, but I can make this right.

"I don't have it all yet, but when I do, I'll pay you back. Every cent, Jack, I swear."

A muscle twitches in Jack's jaw. He tugs one earlobe, staring at me for a long moment. I see something in his eyes then, something darker than hate, something black and sinister, and a shiver of fear pulses through me.

Jack won't let this go. It would look bad for him to his employees, who I worry Rose has told; to his competitors, who might hear it through the grapevine; to the mayor, Nick Greene, who would look at Jack differently, like he's weak, ineffective. Jack won't allow that.

It won't be obvious. I won't see it coming. Jack isn't that type of man. He is shrewd, calculating. He'll wait, figure out how he can benefit; then he'll take me down. For him, the end always justifies the means. In business and in life.

After a moment, when Jack still hasn't said anything, I quietly let myself out.

That night when I get home from work, Ella bounces toward me, a grin on her face. Behind her, Alice is smiling shyly.

"Mel bought you a dress, Mommy, look!" Ella exclaims.

She drags me to the dress, which is draped over the couch in the living room. Pete is there, the Christmas lights up, a fire roaring behind him. He does a silly hand wave, showing off the dress like he's Vanna White. It's lovely, a shimmery gold with a deep V neckline and a long, mermaid-style hem.

"She said it's for the Christmas party," Alice says.

My stomach twists. Christmas Eve. It's only a few days away now. Pete's done everything this year, decorating the house, taking the girls ice skating, doing the Christmas shopping. I've been completely useless.

I stare at the orchid Mrs. McCormack brought, now sitting over the fireplace. Life is about opportunities. Our lives take shape from brushstrokes of chance and calculation. But now the canvas of my life has been punched through with holes.

Suddenly, I burst into tears. The girls and Pete stare in shock as I run upstairs.

After a little bit, Pete follows. He sits quietly next to me on our bed, not touching me, not talking, just sits there until my sobs subside.

"You need to tell me what's going on," he finally says. "Are you leaving me?"

"What?" I sit, wiping my eyes. "No! Pete, I swear. It has nothing to do with you."

"Then what does it have to do with?" he exclaims, frustrated. "I thought things were getting better, but you're acting like you can't stand being around us. You treat us like you wish we'd disappear. I mean, what is it, Laura?"

He's right. I've been punishing my family, and it isn't fair. I take a deep breath, and I tell him everything. Everything that happened that night and everything that led up to it. The whole unvarnished truth.

When I'm done, he looks at me solemnly and says, "We have to go to the police."

I look into my husband's eyes, and I flash back to that day, a hot August morning, when my brother texted, asking me to get milk.

The simple truth is, Theo could've found me anytime. If not that day, it would've been another. I can't blame it on him or the milk. It's my fault. All of it. And I have to make it better.

"You're right," I tell Pete. "I have to turn myself in."