Page 16 of I Know She Was There

Pausing before my tiny kitchen table, Tasha flowed like water into a mismatched chair that sat alongside it, its empty seat the only free space amid the clutter of baby items and knickknacks on every other surface. She placed her hands on the tabletop, and I noticed her oval-tipped nails were the shape and shade of lush red grapes.

“Can I get you a drink?” My gaze shot to the empty wineglass on the end table before focusing back on her cabernet-colored fingertips. I wondered if the chosen shade was a subliminal advertisement for her sommelier husband. “I have wine.”

“Oh no.” She laughed. “If I drink now, I’ll fall asleep cooking dinner.”

I nearly snorted.As if Tasha made dinner. She likely had some sort of food service. Or a personal chef. But I couldn’t let my manners slip. I needed Tasha. More than she knew.

“How are the twins?” I asked. “Any recent photos?”

“Sure.” She whipped out her cell phone and pulled up a picture of the adorable toddlers—a boy and a girl, of course—on an intricate wooden playset next to a gated inground pool in the Turners’ massive backyard. Both kids were mini replicas of their Tyra Banks look-alike mom: hazel eyes slanted like a cat’s, tawny skin. I thought of the day we’d met, when she’d opened her wallet to remove something, and I’d glimpsed a small wedding photo that looked like a shot from the pages ofVogue: Tasha’s model-thin frame strategically filling out a wispy blush wedding gown in all the right places. Her beaming groom, Nelson, in a dove-gray tuxedo, his dark hair and skin gleaming in the tropical-looking sunlight.

“They’re such beautiful children.”

“Thanks, Caroline.” She placed the phone on the table and gestured to the chair across the table. “Let’s talk.”

I toyed with the idea of telling her about what I’d seen on Pine Hill Road. But if she didn’t believe me, I risked her abandoning me like Tim had. Most people avoided crazy.

“You don’t know how much it means to have you help me hash out this marriage stuff,” I said, sliding into the chair. “Tim still refuses to talk to me. Not even on the phone. And I don’t know why.”

She lowered her brows, slicing a vertical line into the skin of her forehead, just above her nose. She’d have to Botox that trouble spot. I was surprised she hadn’t already.

“I think you do, Caroline. You just don’t want to talk about it—or even think about it.”

I placed my elbows on the table and clasped my hands together in front of me. “Well, would you? If Nelson walked out?”

She nodded slowly. “That would hurt me, no doubt, but I think Tim’s hurting too. Things like this take time?—”

I rolled my eyes. “Now you sound like my neighbor, Mary. She keeps telling me to give us more time. And time may be a luxury we don’t have.”

“Why do you say that?” Tasha’s tone turned wary. “You’re both young.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. My parents were young when my dad died. Neither of them had even hit thirty when he drowned.” I suddenly realized they’d been the exact same age I was now. The thought sent a quiver through my hands. I quickly placed them on my lap, out of sight.

“Your mother never remarried.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“I guess she didn’t want another man raising her only kid.”

“Hmm, you’d think she’d welcome someone new to share not only the work of child-rearing but the fun too.” Her eyes met mine, her gaze speculative. “Maybe your mom had decided that no man could measure up.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I think she was so traumatized by the way Daddy died...” I closed my eyes to the memory of sunlight blazing on the pond’s surface, thousands of dazzling silver sequins.

“The accident,” she said.

I opened my eyes; felt a sharp pain in my neck. Reaching up and kneading the area with my fingertips, I remembered our family, so close together. “As you know, we were in a rowboat on a small lake. On vacation, I think. It’s hard to remember, I was so young. I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you, I stood up, causing the boat to capsize.” A shiver raced up my arms as though I’d plunged anew into icy water. I placed my hands on the tabletop to steady them. “My father drowned saving us.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Tasha covered my hands with hers. “A horrible memory.”

I fought the urge to pull my hands away. “That’s just it: I don’t remember it at all.” I gazed up, my eyes locking with hers. “I recall sitting in the boat together, and that’s it.”

Tasha nodded. “That makes sense though, right? That you would block out the traumatic event?”

Emmy began wailing from her bedroom. I shot out of my chair. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I ran to the nursery, swinging Emmy’s door wide and peering into the crib for the cause of her sudden, violent cry. She lay in the center of the mattress, her legs raised up to her tummy and her face an angry red. I bent down and expertly scooped her up, recalling what my pediatrician’s nurse had said during our first postnatal visit: “That’stheloudestcryI’veeverheardoutofababy!”

I bobbed Emmy gently up and down, rubbing her back in soothing circular motions, trying to ease the gassy spasms slicing through her, but her cries only grew louder. I bounced faster and whispered, “It’s okay,” over and over into her ear. Eventually, her cries died down to pathetic little mewls. I donned the baby carrier and tucked her in, angling her so her ear would be against my heart.

I swayed back and forth, knowing it was the motion Emmy liked best. As her whimpers transitioned into hiccups, I marveled at what a reliable friend Tasha had become, even before Tim left. In the beginning, I’d had my doubts. Gun-shy after Muzzy, I wasn’t seeking friends, but Tasha had barreled her way into my life, intent, it seemed, to stay.

When Tim first mentioned the woman named Tasha who worked in the same office complex as he did, doing what he called “personal growth consulting,” I envisioned her job as a mix of beauty advisor and career counselor. When he’d invited her to our home one Monday evening after a particularly trying weekend full of arguing and infant wailing, I’d looked at her sharply; her smooth greeting and direct gaze felt disconcertingly authoritative.Awomanincharge,I’d thought, suspicious of what—or whom—she planned to manage.

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