Page 3 of I Know She Was There

The postpartum meds hadn’t worked, and I wasn’t able to sleep without Xanax. Claiming to worry about the potential for drug dependence, Tim began monitoring and restricting my intake, leading to endless nights without more than an hour or two of rest, giving my waking hours a surreal, nightmarish quality. Every sound became oddly amplified, as though my ears had reverberating speakers tucked inside; morning light scorched my retinas, sending shards of throbbing brightness straight into my brain, settling into a baseline headache that no amount of ibuprofen could touch. That was theweaknessTim so readily diagnosed. I suppressed my resentment, convincing myself he was only looking out for my health.

Exercise helped. In the soothing dark and silence of my nightly strolls, I could function normally. My stiff legs relaxed into an easy, elongated ramble, and my lungs unclenched, turning my shallow breaths into deep, full inhalations. The later my strolls stretched into the night, the more I felt like myself.

That’s when I realized how much I needed the residents of Deer Crossing. Muzzy Owen and her tribe were the first to catch my eye, and her reciprocal attention bolstered my confidence. I didn’t live in the development, but I had every right to stroll the storied streets. Lately, I’d even taken to waving at Matt as I passed him. He’d wave back if he wasn’t preoccupied by a strenuous yard task, like raking out the flower beds or mowing the lawn.

This August evening the temperature hovered around seventy degrees in low humidity. Emmy cooed like a chickadee content in its nest as I increased my speed up an incline, my arms laboring under the increased weight of the carriage. Gritting my teeth against the pain slicing through my left wrist—a reminder of my morning’s sleep-deprived plunge into my bedroom door—I focused on the exertion. It felt cleansing, just like Dr. Ellison said it would. Now that Tim no longer lived with me, I could walk the streets at any time of the day or night. I didn’t have to get back from my evening strolls before he came home. Didn’t have to figure out where he’d been while I was walking off my resentment.

Even so, Emmy needed a motheranda father, no matter our difficulties. I texted Tim every day about important child-related topics. Asking his opinion about starting Emmy on rice gruel, sharing a milestone she’d reached or a worry over a minor health issue. Even though he seldom answered me, I was determined to keep him involved in our child’s life, and eventually get him back home. I knew only too well how impossible it was to endure a childhood without a dad.

I scooted across the three-lane thoroughfare separating Highland Knolls, my neighborhood of modest ranches and bilevels, to Deer Crossing. Consisting of a few hundred dwellings, the upscale development had two parallel main roads leading off Route 55 and into the neighborhood: Pine Hill Road on the west side, and Woodmint Lane on the east. Connecting them at the northernmost end of each road was Primrose Way, which stretched from the bike trails at Woodmint to the pond on Lakeside, just beyond Primrose and north of Pine Hill. Each of these roads had multiple connecting paths and cul-de-sacs with winding streets and expertly landscaped lots. As I started up Woodmint, I wondered if the neighbors had banded together to create a cohesive planting plan. Even in the muted glow of the HPS streetlights, the perennials peeking around stately birches shut out the memory of the ragged, yellowing hostas lining my house’s walkway. This night I meandered, noting how the light layered over the smooth expanse of lawn extending from house to house like an unending carpet. I could discern no weeds in the seamless stretches of grass.

This should have been my life, my neighborhood. As a mechanical engineer, Tim made a decent buck, and my home-based medical-billing job helped cover the extras. My virtual position meant no childcare expenses, which was fortunate. With my parents gone and Tim’s entire family across the country in Seattle, my salary would have been swallowed by day-care costs had I been forced to commute to an office each day.

I’d wanted the big, impressive house, and we could have swung it. Our other expenses were minimal. We preferred our television to movie theaters, takeout to dining out, comfortable clothes to designer labels. And we’d been saving for the future. I’d talked about a big family, like the four-sibling clan Tim had been raised in, not the sad little twosome that had comprised most of my childhood. But my husband decided for us both that prudence was called for. We’d start in a house we could afford rather than live in a “monstrosity” we’d struggle to make payments on.

I’d reluctantly agreed to our simple two-bedroom ranch on Tim’s assurance that as our salaries and family grew, we’d expand to a bigger place. Seemed like a good plan, until my mother died, and my world began to unravel. Now the modest house felt like a condemnation. I needed a home like the one we’d envisioned ourselves eventually living in, a validation of sorts. No chance I’d ever have it unless I could get Tim back.

At the end of Woodmint, I’d eventually turn left onto Primrose Way and pass Muzzy’s house at the other end of that street, near Pine Hill. With any luck she’d be outside, maybe sitting on her front porch. It was early enough—much earlier than most of my treks into the neighborhood. I walked faster, my gaze lasered once again on the Brocktons’ sage farmhouse as I neared it. One low light was on in the living room. I glanced at the completely dark Colonial next door, which I recalled was the tawny tone of a caramel chewy in daylight.

“Good evening,” came a female voice from somewhere in the shadows. Jane Brockton.

I jumped, heart slamming into breastbone. A dark figure stood like a sentinel at the end of the driveway, next to the mailbox. “Oh, uh, hello.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said, stepping forward. Her tone suggested otherwise.

“No, that’s okay, I’m just...” I trailed off, my pounding heart making breathing and speaking at the same time impossible.

“You spend an awful lot of time on this street, don’t you?”

She’s noticed my snooping. My mind clicked into survival mode, sending desperate messages to my mouth. “Well, you know how it is with colicky babies.” I looked down at the carriage and back at her advancing form. “Whatever it takes to get them to sleep.”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t have children.” Jane’s tone sounded oddly challenging. “What’s the baby’s name?”

“Emmy,” I said, my quivering voice hinting at my reluctance to tell her anything about myself.

She stopped a few feet in front of me and raised her hand, which held an iPhone. She turned on the built-in flashlight, creating a harsh halo of light around her stunning figure. I’d clearly not been able to properly appreciate her attractiveness from a distance. “May I take a peek?”

Seriously? She wants to shine a high-intensity beam into my infant’s face? Good thing she doesn’t have children.I raised the bassinet hood, an urgency to get away from her overwhelming me. “I just got her to sleep; she’s hypersensitive to light.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Perhaps she wanted a child and Rod was unwilling or unable to provide any for her. He was, after all, a good bit older than she was. She stepped back, giving me the impression of a balloon deflating slightly. “You’ll have to stroll by in the daytime when the baby’s awake.” She accented the worddaytime.

“I’ll do that,” I promised, pressing on the carriage handle.

“I’m Jane, by the way.”

“Alice,” I lied. “Nice to meet you,” I called over my shoulder as I started to walk away.

“You look like that woman who used to go to Muzzy Owen’s house.” Her voice had a hard edge that sent a shiver down my spine. “But her name wasn’t Alice.”

I froze. “You know Muzzy?” I tried to suppress the surprise in my voice.

“I know everyone in this neighborhood. But I don’t know you.”

“Well, I don’t actually live here.”

“I know that. I can follow people too. Your name is Caroline, so why would you tell me it’s Alice?”

My throat went dry. I turned toward her, my legs shaking. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

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