When We Were Friends (31 page)

How much easier it would be if Star was right and we really were all part of the same god, all subconsciously knowing each other’s secrets and working together for the
greater good
. So much easier if Alex intuitively knew the truth, and already forgave me.

“Do you believe in God?” I asked.

He twitched, like I’d just physically tugged him awake, then gave a faint smile and said, “I used to. In fifth grade this boy in my class, Noah, drowned in a backyard swimming pool. So right after that—I guess I was finally really getting the concept of death—I started praying for all the people I loved most. Which expanded until I had this huge list; I was praying for pretty much every single person I’d ever known. I mean how could I live with myself if I forgot someone and
the next day they were dead? What if mentioning their name to God could’ve made a difference?”

“You thought you were responsible for the entire world,” I said.

“That makes me sound really egotistical. But yeah, every night I prayed for every person in my neighborhood and every kid in my class, teachers, doctors, even the checkout girls at Safeway.”

I shook my head. “That says a lot about you. It’s the same way you felt responsible for me and Molly.”

“It actually says I was obsessive and probably a little insane.” There was a kind of strained humor in his voice, mocking but also pained. “But it only lasted a few months. I fell asleep holding my list of people to pray for, and my sister found me with it and made fun of me for a month. And I started thinking if He really was all-powerful, why would he have let Posy see it? So that was the end of my praying, which I guess was a good thing since it was so time-consuming. But I still feel guilty now when bad things happen.”

“That’s awful. It means you
still
feel responsible for the world.”

“No.” He turned back to the fireplace, gazed at it as he said, “No, I just feel responsible for the things I really have done. That’s enough.”

With the intimacy of the moment, the darkness around us, I had this feeling like he wanted to tell me what he meant but just needed a nudge. And I was so close to asking him, felt the question on my tongue, but before I could say anything he added, “You’re actually the first person I ever told about the praying. I guess I never knew anybody I could trust not to totally laugh at me.” He leaned back in his chair. “Reason number forty-seven I love having you here.”

I felt an anguished twist in my chest, but tried to smile. “You’re keeping tally?”

“Reason forty-eight is the way your eyes crinkle when you think something’s funny. Very endearing.”

“Those are called crow’s-feet,” I said. “You’re making fun of my wrinkles.” And then suddenly, I felt my eyes fill.

His brow furrowed. “Leah, hey … It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Alex.” I shook my head, then closed the book in my lap, and spread my hands over it. “Alex, I have to tell you something. Because the thing is, we’re leaving, me and Molly and Star. Tomorrow. We’re just not safe here, which also means you’re not safe. So … I’ve already packed our things, and we’re leaving in the morning.”

“Not safe?” His face went suddenly still. “Is there something I don’t know? Because I’ve been trying for the past few days to think of the right, un-insulting way to make you realize how crazy this is.”

The heaviness in his face was an exact echo of the heaviness in my chest, and seeing it I wanted to grab onto something solid, kicking like a toddler being dragged into the unknown. I pressed my lips between my teeth to keep myself from screaming.

“You know your husband hasn’t even reported you missing? I’ve been searching for stories about you and Molly, and I haven’t even seen any reports of babies missing in Chicago. So don’t you think that means he isn’t going to tell anybody? Maybe he’s finally looking hard at what he did to Molly, and he decided to let you go.” He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped. “I realize you’re terrified, of course you can’t take chances on this, but think it through instead of just acting on fear. You’ve been safe so far, nobody’s looking for you, so why would you be safer anywhere else?”

There was something close to desperation in his voice, and hearing it I felt a numb shock. Regardless of what Susie had told me, it hadn’t really registered until now that we might be helping Alex just as much as he was helping us, that this person I’d become, Leah, was the type of woman who’d be missed.

Maybe it would actually be safer to stay. Was I wrong to freak out so much about this Kemper person they might never find? About my impending conversation with an FBI detective who’d just look at me as an old acquaintance Sydney had met for coffee and then never again? I didn’t know, I didn’t know what was safe anymore, but I pictured dragging Star to the car tomorrow, following page after page of maps for hundreds of miles. Molly screaming in the backseat and Star hyperventilating in the front seat, and I suddenly felt impossibly
tired, more tired than I’d ever felt in my life. “I’m so scared, Alex,” I said. “Everything scares me.”

“I know,” he said, then rose to stand behind my chair, hugged me from behind so all I could see was his forearm, the muscles tight against my chest, the veins and tendons under his skin. He kissed my temple and then my cheek, then placed a hand at my chin to turn my face toward him, his eyes pleading. “Then let me take care of you,” he said softly.

And those words, the promise that I’d finally be taken care of for the first time in such a very long time, the promise I’d been looking for from God, those were the words that finally made me break down and cry.

And so, we stayed.

Staying was foolish, part of me knew that, but the truth was that there were no good answers. If the FBI called and couldn’t reach me they’d try me at home, find out I’d left, and I’d probably become their prime suspect. I wasn’t safe here, but really I wasn’t safe anywhere.

I don’t know what Alex was thinking; did he expect we’d stay for weeks? For months? He acted like the question wasn’t there. The three of us went on an hour-long drive the next day to buy Molly a crib and high chair, Alex setting Molly in them to ask what she thought, even musing with me about the day she’d no longer need them. He pretended permanence, and I let him.

It was inexcusable, all of it. I knew I couldn’t stay much longer without telling Alex the truth, but I also knew the time for telling the truth was long, long past. Not having confessed to him was unforgivable, and telling now would be unforgivable. And so, there I was paralyzed.

The call came while Alex and I were in the garden with Molly. Every day we sat on the grass with her among the flowers, plucking a basil
leaf for her to sniff, pointing out the names of flowers and trees as if she might remember them, baby botanist. Molly seemed to take as much interest in a blade of grass as she did in a goldfinch pecking around it. In her own way, she was an artist.

I’d replayed over and over what might happen when they called, knew how I had to react and what to say. I needed to be far enough from Molly that they wouldn’t be able to hear her, so when the phone in my pocket rang I jumped up without explanation, to run into the house.

“Is this Lainey Carson?” It was a woman, her voice deep and sandpapery, a smoker’s voice.

“Yes?” My head was weaving and I was suddenly scared I might faint. I sat on the sofa and forced myself to breathe.

“Ms. Carson, this is Agent Menendez with the FBI, and I’m calling about Sydney Beaumont. Do you have a minute to talk?”

Could I say no and put the conversation off? Like maybe forever? “Okay,” I said.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the kidnapping. We’re just following up on leads and I have a few questions.”

“Right, okay.” My voice was unsteady. And it occurred to me that with three small words, all of this could tumble down around me. That’s how precarious it was; my tongue could take control, a sort of Tourette’s, could say,
I have her
, and everything I’d built so carefully would fall to dust. I steeled my shoulders.

“Can you describe your relationship with Ms. Beaumont, please?”

“It’s … not much of a relationship. We were in the same school. Back when we were kids. A long time ago.” I was aware that I was talking in toddler-length sentences, but it was all I could manage without my voice wobbling.

“When was the last time you talked with her?”

“We had coffee. Like a month ago.” Would anyone have been able to tell the investigators she’d come by the house the day Molly disappeared? They must not know or surely they would’ve called me
sooner. “I ran into her at the store where she works, and then we decided to get together for coffee that one time.” I swallowed, then repeated, “That one time.”

“And how did she seem when you talked to her?” the investigator said. “Did you notice anything unusual?”

“No! No, not at all. She seemed happy.” Was this the right thing to say? Could Sydney ever have been happy knowing Molly had been abused and the abuser was about to get custody? “I mean, not happy exactly; she seemed distracted like there might be other things she was thinking about that kept her from being a hundred percent happy.”
Wrong answer!
“But, you know, she seemed okay considering.”

“Considering?” the agent said.

“Considering everything she’d been through with her husband. That’s all I meant when I said she seemed distracted. Her face was all bruised when I saw her, and when I asked she told me what he did to her and Molly.” I shook my head quickly. “I mean Jacqueline! To Jacqueline. Which was obviously distracting.”

The agent didn’t respond, and I imagined her scribbling notes:
Suspect seems confused, nervous and evasive. Check phone, bank and credit card records STAT
. Handing the notes to an associate. Speed-dialing the Mendham police. But then she said, “When she talked about her husband, what would you say her tone was?”

“Her tone?”

“I mean was she angry maybe? Or did she sound scared?”

“Well she was upset, sure.” I remembered what Pamela had told me about her first conversation with Sydney. “Mostly she just seemed hurt, like she couldn’t believe the man she loved could’ve abused their daughter. It made her really sad.” Ah yes, within the space of a minute I’d said Sydney was both happy and sad.
Clearly deceptive
, the agent added to her notes.

“Did she tell you about their custody battle? Or any plans she had for the future?”

“Um, not really. She said they were trying to figure things out, but
she didn’t go into any detail. Except … except! She mentioned she knew she’d end up with full custody so there was no reason for her to do anything crazy.”

“She mentioned doing something crazy?”

“What? No! No, those are my words.”

The agent didn’t respond, a heavy, interminable silence, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “She just knew she’d get custody,” I said, “that David was going to look at how he’d hurt Jacqueline and realize the baby was better off with her.”

“And if he didn’t realize it?”

“Look, I know what you’re getting at, but Sydney’s the most sensible, honest person I know.” I felt my face wanting to screw up in rebellion, but I shook it off. “She’d never do anything to hurt her baby and she’d never falsely accuse her husband. That’s just not the kind of person she is.” My voice was amazingly firm. I didn’t know whether to be proud of myself, or puke.

“Okay,” the agent said, “one last question. Did she talk about other men she might’ve had relations with while she was still married?”

“What? No, she wouldn’t do that, she’s … very loyal.”

“Or mention a man named Kemper? Who she’d spent time with over the past few years?”

“Kemper? No, doesn’t sound familiar.” I scrubbed my free hand up and down the leg of my jeans. “I think over the past few months she’s been pretty isolated, hasn’t seen or talked to hardly anyone.”

“How about a paternity test? Did she tell you she’d gotten one?”

“A paternity test? You mean of Jacqueline?”

“So she didn’t mention it.”

“No!” I shook my head slightly. “So she didn’t know for sure David was the father?” I blinked quickly. “
Was
he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, I’m sorry. But thank you for your time, Ms. Carson. I’ll give you a number where you can reach me if you think of anything else you’d like to tell us.”

As she rattled off the number, I stared blankly at the front door.
She’d gotten a paternity test? So Kemper
had
been more than just a “friend.” Really, knowing Sydney, I shouldn’t have been all that surprised.

Had David known she’d been having an affair? Of course Molly must’ve turned out to be David’s, otherwise there was no reason she’d have had to go through all this to get custody. But still, if he’d ever found out she’d slept with another man, I could only imagine what he would’ve done to her.

After hanging up, I went to the living room and stood in the bay window watching Alex roll a ball into the V of Molly’s legs, trying to encourage her to roll it back. My shirt was clinging to my sides, sweat beading on my forehead as I stood there forcing myself to breathe. For now, at least, everything was okay.