Page 21 of One Last Night

Anger flares in me again. “Youwerevery vengeful. You could be so vindictive.”

“So could you. That’s why you don’t want to read the letters you wrote me.”

I feel as though the wind is knocked out of me. “What? How do you…” I realize the absurdity of that question and don’t finish it.

Annie laughs. “Poor Mary. You might want to think about talking to someone. You’re carrying all of this guilt, and you’re terrified of confronting it. It’s driving youveryclose to insane. It would be a pity if Sean had to begin his marriage visiting his wife in the mental hospital.”

My hand swings out in a flash. Annie catches the blow, and her smile disappears, leaving behind a cruel sneer. “You don’t want the truth, Mary. You don’t want to know why Ireallyleft. You want to believe that I was selfish, capricious and cruel. You want to keep believing that you’re smart and sensible and kind and that it’s everyone else’s fault that you suffer. What will those notes say, Mary? Whatdidyou write me after I finally got away?”

Images flash across my mind: weeping in my room, crying out in anger, writing furiously, weeping again, smashing Annie’s picture and—

I cry out and snatch my arm away from her. “You’re wrong!”

I freeze again. Annie is gone. The forest is as it was before, lush, green and beautiful. I am alone save for an elderly couple walking fifty yards ahead of me down a path that crosses mine. They give me a cautious, pitying look and continue on their way.

I sniff and return the way I came, walking swiftly and keeping my eyes fixed firmly ahead. The sky is a little darker now, but I refuse to look at my phone and discover the reason, even though I know what the reason is. It’s not until I leave the forest and have to acknowledge that the sun is on the opposite side of the sky that I pull my phone out and check the time.

It’s five o’clock. The sun will set in an hour and a half. I’ve been at the park for over seven hours, and nearly six of them were spent standing on a forest path talking to a hallucination of my sister.

Hot tears sting my eyes. This isn’t fair. This isn’t even much of a mystery compared to the others. No one’s dead. No one’s having a current affair that I know about. At worst, this is a family feud spilling over into business interests. I shouldn’t be so badly affected by this.

Annie’s voice echoes in my head.You keep acting like this is about the Bellamys. It’s not. This is about you running away. You can’t do that forever, Mary. You’re older and tired now. It takes a lot of work to keep up this façade. Eventually—

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter.

And thankfully, she does. Or I do. Whatever. I wipe the tears from my eyes and since I don’t want to return to the house right now, I walk to the seafood restaurant that Julian tells me about.

The hostess frowns when she sees my puffy red eyes, but before she can ask me if I’m all right, I force a smile and say cheerily, “I can’t wait to try your fresh clams. My employer tells me they’re the best he’s ever had.”

The hostess gets the message that I don’t want to talk about it and returns a smile as forced as mine, except that hers containsan element of pity that I absolutely hate. “We catch them fresh every day. I’ll have a plate made up for you right away. Would you like to sit at the bar or at a table?”

“The bar is fine, thank you.”

“Of course. Sit anywhere you like.”

I take my seat and enjoy what really is a very fine meal. After the clams, I eat a dinner of pasta with fresh-caught shrimp in a lemon-garlic sauce. For dessert, I accept the server’s recommendation of blackberry pie topped with fresh cream.

It’s a delicious meal, and I wish I could have tasted it. But what I experienced today drives all enjoyment from the food. What I want more than anything else is to feel Sean’s arms around me, but I don’t call him. I can’t tell him what happened. He’s been pushing for me to talk to a therapist for months, and if he learns what happened today, he might call one himself. I can’t let that happen. I can’t risk being committed again. If I go inside again, I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.

It’s dark when I finish my meal. When I leave the restaurant, I realize that my long absence might have caused concern with my employers. I check my phone, terrified that I might have to come up with a reason not only why I’m home late but why I’ve ignored calls all day.

But no one has called me. No one has wondered where their governess has gone to all day. It’s a relief, really. The only silver lining to one of the darkest clouds to ever block the sun.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It’s well past nightfall when I return to the house. The family has finished their dinner already, and the children are both in their rooms. If I were in a better frame of mind, I would visit with each of them and talk about their day, but I’m too overwhelmed by what happened at the park to be up to conversation. What I want more than anything is a long shower and a restful night.

Alas, it’s not to be. The children are in their rooms, but Victoria Cartwright is alone in the great room. A half-open bottle of wine sits on the coffee table in front of her, and by the looks of it, she’s responsible for the half that’s missing.

She sees me and smiles, lifting her wineglass which is nearly empty, a good thing since she doesn’t hold it steadily. “Mary! What a pleasant surprise! Come, join me.”

“Oh, I appreciate, Victoria, but I’m very—”

“Come on. I insist. I have no one to talk to but my family, and I can’treallytalk to them.” She leans forward and lifts the bottle. “There’s wine in it for you. Don’t worry, it’s not from the estate.”

I remember at the last second that I shouldn’t understand why she says that. I frown and ask, “Pardon?”

She flips her hand. “Never mind. Come sit with me. Please.”

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