Page 22 of I Know She Was There

“God, Mary.” A shiver ran through me. Her words were too clear now, the details so real. I stared at the road, intent on keeping us on it, my eyes away from the neighbor I’d apparently never really known. “He had a heart attack?”

“Mmmm. I would have called for an ambulance if I hadn’t been so angry.”

“So you did nothing?” A flash of little Brandon’s still form in the pond seared my brain. “You watched him die?” I side-eyed her.

She shook her head. “Of course not. I wasn’t sticking around to witness that. Too painful. I left.” She sighed dramatically. “But you know I still miss him?”

I looked back at the road, not knowing what to say. Everyone had secrets. I never spoke about how I’d passively watched my friend’s baby nearly drown. And there was Jane and the affair she was hiding from her husband. A sin Muzzy and Tim might also be guilty of. I swallowed, thinking of Melanie with her arms around a man who probably wasn’t her husband. Had Matt made her pay for her transgression with her life? It couldn’t be...

“I knew you’d understand,” Mary said, interrupting my musing. “Being alone is the hardest part of life, isn’t it?” I turned the car into our development, not trusting my voice.

“Yes, Mary,” I eventually said, pressing my foot on the accelerator. I had to get the drunken nutjob out of my car and away from my baby. I took the corner of our street too quickly, angling both of us sharply to the left. Mary’s arm collided with my right elbow.

“Jesus, Caroline,” she slurred. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a terrible driver.”

* * *

After dropping Mary home, I fed and changed Emmy and settled her into the crib, shaking my head at the story my neighbor had shared.

Can’t be true.

Besides being a heavy drinker, Mary might have some form of dementia. God only knew what visions plagued the plaque-encrusted brain of an octogenarian. Not a generous thought, but the truth wasn’t always kind and understanding. I’d faced a lot of callous truths myself. Empathy had seldom prevailed when I’d asked my mother to tell me about my dead dad. Where were they married? Were they happy together? Did they love their child... love me? She usually reminded me that badgering people was not polite. Every now and then she’d smile tightly and nod or shake an answer. Eventually, I decided that the mere mention of the man we’d loved and lost was too painful for her to talk about.

Think about pleasant things.

Easier said than done, I thought as I flipped on the television and went around the channels. None of the daytime talkies appealed. The hosts jabbered on about upcoming fall fashions, staycations, parenting rebellious teens. I headed for the kitchen and found an unopened bottle of merlot in the cabinet below the sink, mixed in with cleaning supplies. The bottle had been too tall to fit in my other cabinets. Reaching into the utensil drawer, I snatched the corkscrew. I’d have just a glass or two. Unlike Mary, I knew when to quit. I brought the bottle and a wineglass into the living room and settled onto the couch. A glass of alcohol made me think clearly. Maybe it temporarily swelled my nerve cells, shortening the gap between them so messages could flow more quickly across the synapses. That didn’t seem right, but I didn’t care.

A sharp rap on the front door startled me. I stood gingerly.Why am I dizzy?Making my way to the source of the knocking, I had trouble twisting the doorknob.Curious. After eventually getting the door open, I paused and stared. Tasha Turner graced the stoop. Looking professional in a navy suit, she smiled at me.

“Hello, Caroline. You look surprised to see me.”

“Well, I... what time is it?”

Her brows lowered over her eyes. I’d confused her. “It’s four, of course.”

“Oh, silly me. The day’s just flown.”How long have I been drinking?“Pleasecomein.”

She laughed. “You don’t know how often I lose track of time. In my job I’m always running around, trying to get it all done.”

She was being kind, of course. Giving me an out. I led her through the living room, certain she’d notice the half-empty bottle of merlot and burgundy-stained wineglass on the end table. I could almost hear the calculations clicking in her mind, the judgments being formed as I did with Mary.

“How have you been?” she asked, pulling out her usual chair from its place tucked under my tiny kitchen table.

“Oh, well, you know.” I sighed. “New day, same old shit.”

She frowned ever so slightly, making me feel crass. “If life was always exciting, we’d become bored and look for drama just to fill the time.”

I looked at her, a vision of Muzzy filling her boring evenings by screwing my husband. “You think so?”

She lifted one shoulder in a semi shrug. “It’s human nature.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I hadn’t ever thought of life in those terms. I’d been too busy dodging the fears and worries my mind manufactured. “Maybe that’s what I’m doing: creating all my problems in my head. Anticipating the worst so I’m not surprised when it happens.” I crossed the kitchen in three steps and reached for the dish-cabinet knob as I looked over my shoulder at her. “You want coffee?”

“I prefer tea.”

Of course she did. She never drank coffee. I knew that.

“That’s right. You like ginger turmeric, right?”

---