Page 16 of Circle of Strangers
10
I’m sifting through the mail after I return from Mara’s when I find another slender white envelope with no return address.
Two in one week.
Holding my breath, I rip it open in haste.
My Gabrielle—
I hope you’re receiving these letters. I’ve intentionally left off my return address. I suppose I’m afraid of what you’ll say, hoping you’ll hear me out first and give me a chance to show you how much I miss you. You were a precious gem of a daughter, and I often look back at our memories with bittersweet fondness. The other day I watched some neighborhood children playing hide-and-seek at the park, and it made me think of when we lived in that big white house on Birchwood where we’d play hide-and-seek together for hours. That place had an abundance of perfect hiding spots. I always knew your favorites and found you every time. Thinking of you ...
Heat sears down my middle and I half crumple the letter in my fist. I didn’t let her get to me the last time or the time before that. I shouldn’t start now. But I’m beginning to get an idea of where shemight be going with this little game of hers. It’s some type of reverse psychology mind-fuckery.
We didn’t play hide-and-seek.
When I was five years old, she asked if I wanted to play hide-and-seek. According to her, the rules were that you couldn’t come out until you were found. There were times I’d be hiding for hours, waiting for her to find me. And there were other times she’d be hiding for hours—except I quickly learned she was never hiding. She was always gone, leaving me home alone, searching the old, drafty, expansive rental house for my “hiding” mother. When she’d get back, she’d laugh as she gaslit me into thinking she was there the whole time.
But even at that age, I knew better.
It was then that I learned real monsters do all of their hiding in plain sight.
11
The sheets are cool against my skin as I sink into bed that night, my head resting on Will’s chest. The hum of the ceiling fan fills the room, soft and steady, and the scent of this morning’s aftershave—cedar and pine—lingers faintly on his skin. I sit up and watch the shadow of the fan blades rotate slowly on the ceiling as Will readjusts his posture and reaches down to my feet, kneading them gently with his thumbs.
“How do you always know exactly what I need, when I need it? You spoil me,” I murmur, letting my eyes flutter shut as he gently works a tense spot near my arch.
“You deserve to be spoiled,” he says, his voice soft and affectionate. “You do so much for us.”
I let out a small sigh, feeling the warmth of his touch melt the day’s tension from my body. Moments like these make it easy to forget the thoughts that creep in when he’s not looking. Right now, with his hands on me and his steady presence grounding me, it’s hard to believe he could be anything other than mine.
Mara can make eyes at him all she wants. He’s not going anywhere.
“You look so beautiful right now, all glowy and relaxed, eyes half open, like you’re saving the last remains of your energy for me,” he whispers, his fingers drifting from my foot to trace along my ankle. His voice is low, intimate. Toward the end of both of my pregnancies, when sleep was elusive, I used to have him read to me with that voice until I finally dozed off. It always worked like a charm.
I lean back against him, letting my head nestle into the crook of his arm. What we have looks a lot like love and functions the same. But what I wouldn’t give to know how it feels every once in a while.
“I had coffee with Mara this morning,” I say casually, testing the waters. “Saw her at the mailbox and she invited me in.”
I’ve yet to mention the Lucinda letters, which have been taking up permanent residence in my thoughts like an old ghost refusing to leave an attic. I should say something, especially considering that Will knows the whole story. Except Will’s been so happy since we moved here. I don’t want to take that away from him. I don’t want him to worry. Until I know Lucinda’s endgame, I’m keeping all of this to myself.
“Oh?” He pauses his massage briefly before resuming its slow, comforting rhythm. “How’d that go?”
Will’s questions never seem loaded, but sometimes I think he’s better at fishing for information than I give him credit for.
“She got emotional.” I draw out my words. “Apparently Oscar’s cheating on her. She actually started crying. It was ... awkward.”
Will’s hand stills for a second—so brief I might have missed it if I hadn’t been waiting for it.
“Oscar?” he says, like the name tastes strange on his tongue. “Oscar’scheating onMara? You’re kidding.”
Why he’s acting as if this is shocking news is interesting—the two of them barely spent more than a handful of minutes together at the party the other night.
“Yep,” I say, glancing up at him. “He’s working out more, coming home late—she thinks it’s pretty obvious.”
Will hums thoughtfully, his thumb circling gently over my ankle. “Did she say who?”
“No.” I keep my tone light, but I’m watching him carefully now. Will’s always been a good listener, but tonight he’s unusually full of questions.
